Absolute
by Chameleon Eyes
Summary: The only man she had loved was not a man of noble blood, though he was nobler than any noble could aspire, but a man born in the small village of Ordon. Most approved of the relationship, admiring how a queen pure of heart was in love with the hero who saved her. Some were angry she had set her eyes upon him rather than themselves. Post Twilight Princess. Link x Zelda.
1. Twilight's End

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Legend of Zelda_ or any of its characters.**  
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**Absolute**

_by Chameleon Eyes_

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**~ 1 ~**

**Twilight's End  
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_Wisdom is not knowledge. Knowledge is not power. Wisdom is true power and belongs solely to those who are born to rule._

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Twilight illuminated the sky. Its dull light cast dreary shadows upon the soft greens of the land, turning even the liveliest colours into a sombre blue.

Within the tallest tower of the castle stood the new queen. Sorrow filled her, causing her brows to draw and her delicate lips to twist in a frown. It was an unfamiliar emotion for one who had recently been crowned queen. She should be grateful for surviving the Twilight War, blissful for finally wearing the crown on her head, a symbol for a time of peace and prosperity. But for an inexplicable reason, heaviness weighed her heart.

"It must be the twilight," she whispered to herself. Its soft blue glow made her remember all of it—all the men who ascended into the heavens and all of the people who cowered in fear. And their princess—helpless and useless in their hour of need.

With a sad smile, she remembered the departure of the twilight princess and the hero's emotional turmoil. It was a shame she would never see her again, a regret that she had no words of comfort for either of them. Her leave was inevitable and his heartbreak inexorable.

It was especially evident in their last conversation together.

In the silken sands of the Gerudo Desert, the hero and princess sat down by a rare oasis for a quick break of traveling on foot. The sun had set and twilight hovered in the horizon.

She took off her boots and dipped bare feet into the pool before them. Its crisp coolness relaxed her sore feet from walking in the unbearable sun. She looked at him to see if he was unscathed by Midna's unexpected leave.

He lied on the cluster of grass by a palm tree, his eyes gazing at the sky. "Somewhere, Midna is with us right now," he said, placing his hands beneath his neck. A small smile curved his thin lips. "The sky is beautiful and melancholic when there are no stars and there is no sun."

She tilted her head to gain a better view of the clear sky. "When the sun sets and the moon has yet to awaken, this is the time when light merges with shadow."

He was silent for a moment, staring at the skies with such fondness. She knew why he gazed at the sky with longing in his eyes. It was mysterious, afar, and solitary. It reminded him of the twilight princess.

"There is a feeling of sorrow lingering in the air," he spoke at last. "Do you not feel it, Zelda?"

The way he said her name startled her. She was unaccustomed to the absent title of princess. The feeble detail did not irk her, in a way, she was grateful for his informality.

"This is the time of reflection and solitude," she spoke calmly. She stared at the reflection of the pool. "The light has faded and with it the toils of life."

"Reflection…" he murmured.

She caught his eyes brighten at the cluster of twin palms. She envied the way he experienced the world—alert and focused, noticing the tiniest of details everywhere he went. He felt everything, saw everything, heard the entire world. Nature was at peace with him as he was at peace with nature.

"What is reflection?" he at last asked, a perplexed expression wrinkling his brow. "Is it taking the time to evaluate strengths and weaknesses? To review the past as if it is the present?"

"Reflection is acquiring wisdom of oneself," she said. "As the old saying goes, 'the wisest men are the most content.'"

"And how does one obtain happiness?"

"It is subjective. Happiness differentiates among people. Some desire the material things, the things which are fleeting and have no eternal value. Others have delight in understanding the world. As life progresses, their understanding only grows. It does not disappear."

"The hermits of old are happy amongst themselves," he observed.

"The hermits are such men who seek to understand the world." She sat straight, interested in his enthusiasm. "Legend says the ancient Sage of the Forest sought wisdom within the depths of the trees. Each day he would sit beneath an old willow with a gnarled trunk. Eventually, he focused internally and understood his role in the universe. By reflecting within, he heard the whispers of the forest and became more aware of his duty as a sage. He finally achieved insight through solitude and reflection."

"Perhaps the hermits learned this simplistic lifestyle from him."

She nodded. "It is what Auru told me. He once lived in the woods."

"He is a wise man," he commented absently. His eyes darted this way and that in nature's presence, as if some danger lurked near, or perhaps it was to admire the beauty of the evening sky. "Such wisdom could be of use to me." He chuckled, enjoying the joke to himself.

"You are wise," she said immediately. "Do not think for a second you are not."

"I am not as wise as you," he mumbled weakly. It was not meant for her ears, yet she heard it and felt her heart fall. "I may explore the forest one day. Perhaps live a simple life in it, a simpler life than one in Ordon."

It was to be a joke, but she knew he was not joking. He lied still, a little too stiff, as he said it. In the outline of the stars, his shoulders slightly quiver from the night's cold—or was it the suppressed sobs from the departure of a loved one?

"If it is what you desire, then I hope you catch the forest's whispers and keep them. And one day," she said. "You will look back with a smile." She withdrew her feet from the pool, the drops darkening the sand. The hem of her dress was stained from the desert's wind and her boots dirtied with hardened mud. "Shall we head back?" she asked, pulling on her footwear.

"By all means," he nodded, rising from his bed of grass.

For a moment, they walked together in silence. The twilight drifted into the horizon and transformed into an inky sky. Diamonds winked in the night and the moon sliced a luminous crescent in the darkness.

"Link," she said, barely audible. She watched as her feet treaded among the desert's sands.

He looked at her, his mouth a thin line. There was apprehension in her voice as she said his name.

She was frozen as he gazed at her with attentiveness. She knew she was prying within his private realm; it was something so personal that it was inappropriate among acquaintances. But she found she could not quench her curiosity. "What will you do now? After all of this has passed, where will you be?"

He smiled, as if he expected this question. "To Ordon," he said simply. "Where else will I be?"

She said nothing of his answer. They both knew he would venture into the woods, for why else would he gain interest in the Sage of the Forest?

There was a desire for him to reach his own enlightenment. Though his adventures in Hyrule's twilight provided sufficient growth, he was not yet complete. To him, the woods would allow him to contemplate all he had done, to fully understand the world in his own view. It was an opportunity to comprehend his own emotional turmoil and fight his inner demons of the past.

And now, as she stared at the darkened sky, the overwhelming sadness enveloped her whole, until her heart ached and she stifled a sob, and she, surprised that a tear threatened to leak onto her pale cheek, wiped it away furiously, ashamed she was so selfish to have such a hope he would be there, smiling and kneeling before her.

"You will come to my coronation in the summer?" she had asked. They took yet another rest at Lake Hylia where greens surrounded the soft hush of the waves. "I would like to knight you soon after."

He said nothing, his stone silence a wall between them. "Perhaps," he said. The water reflected the sun's rays and bounced off his golden hair, his eyes locked onto its fluctuating surface. Such beautiful eyes, so bright and full of life at times, and at others, they hardened, cold and relentless, churning and raging like a storm in the sea.

With a soft smile, he turned to her, his voice calm and collected. "I cannot break a vow to my princess, but I will assure you, one day I shall return and be knighted by Your Grace."

She knew why he had not promise her, for he knew he would break it if he had. In the depths of her heart, she knew she could forgive him, yet she hated he did not appear as she expected, hated the disappointment he gave her; but most of all, she hated herself for acting selfish, wishing for him to be here instead of elsewhere where he truly belonged.

She said goodbye to the twilight as it vanished, the darkness swallowing it whole like a fish in the water. As she descended the steps, she whispered a prayer.

"May he be safe."


	2. Solitary

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**~ 2 ~**

**Solitary**

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_It is a tradition for the royal family to trail behind the ascending heir. And when you become queen, your mother and I will stand behind you. _

**~::-x-::~**

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

The click of her heels sent echoes down the grand isle of the throne room. She gulped, swallowing the painful lump at the back of her throat as she forced herself to walk in heavy attire.

People rose from their seats, their heads bowed as they clasped their hands together. All were silent, respecting the soon-to-be queen, so silent that she could hear the beat of her heart. For an inexplicable reason, she felt smaller as they stood for her, felt as if their eyes watched her every move, though they were shut or on the ground. And so she walked the long stretch of carpet before her. It was as large as Hyrule field itself, and each step she took did not bring her closer. Instead, she felt farther away, and she suddenly had the strong urge to hasten her pace and finish the whole ceremony in a blink of an eye.

At long last, her feet began to climb the mountain of stairs, and finally she made it at the top, the province representatives smiling to her and bearing her gifts. Each face she passed, she hoped to see a certain smile, a certain wink of an eye. But all she saw were unfamiliar faces—a tall man with a geometric patterned cloak in his arms, a stout man with a balding head holding a sheathed sword respectively, and lastly a young Zora with an oyster in the palm of his hands, its brilliant shine mesmerizing.

She sat down on the throne. The rest of the room sat down with her and waited patiently. Above the throne, the goddesses' blank eyes watched.

Auru placed the magnificent crown on her head. It was not he who normally such an honourable task, but the successor before her. He was no longer with her, and the realization of him missing such an important event in her life sent pangs to her heart.

She almost broke down, but quickly retreated with stony composure. Her back straight, her hands politely in her lap, and her eyes looking at the large entrance, not staring at any of her subjects before her, for if she did, she was afraid she would catch sight of a man similar to her father, and that would only bring tears to her eyes. Such tears would indicate how weak she was to control a kingdom at such a young age, such tears would show the world that she was not done mourning her father's death two long years ago, and such tears would bring herself her own misery.

So she held them back, unblinking, as the three province representatives approached her with their congratulations.

She hardly heard what the bald man said as he placed the Ordon sword in her left hand, did not even look as the small Zora placed the oyster in her other hand, and she did not blink an eye as the tall man placed the cloak around her shoulders, its long red cloth heavy and burdening.

"Your Grace," Auru said, lightly touching her shoulder.

It brought her out of her state and she rose. Everyone else rose with her as she bowed and they bowed back.

"You must open the oyster," the small Zora said.

Obediently, she opened it to reveal an ivory inside layered with lustrous pastel pinks, blues and greens. And in the middle laid a gigantic black pearl, shined and polished effectively. She could see her own reflection from it and never saw someone as miserable as she.

She tried to smile thanks, but it fell flat from her face like a bird in the tree. Ungraceful, undignified, hurtful.

The Zora abruptly looked away, displeased with her disappointment.

"The people of Hyrule," Aura boomed, "I present to you the new Queen of Hyrule, Queen Zelda Nohansen VI."

The applause from below was not as loud as she had expected it to be.

**~::-x-::~**

"M'lady," Auru said.

In the orange glow of the setting sun, Zelda looked away from the window's view of Castle Town and into Auru's aged eyes. Around them wrinkled crow's feet and laugh lines, a physical trait which had always been there since she met him as a little girl.

"Yes?"

"The country is pieced back together, and it has only been a month. Is that not an accomplishment? Especially for a monarch as young and inexperienced such as yourself." Auru walked across the room and sat by the old oak chess table, its players ready to march into battle.

She smiled. She knew he only gave her such compliments because, behind her soft smiles and crinkled eyes, she was tired and exhausted, stressed and anxious, yet somewhat proud and relieved that all was finished and completed.

She went to him and sat across. "For many weeks we sat here in this very room, discussing the state of the provinces and their civilians. The monsters are gone, but their ghosts are still present." With a slow movement, she plucked the king figure off the board and fiddled it in her hands, examining it as if it were a jewel. Tears welled up in her eyes as she set it down. "If only father could see what I have done and what I have not done. What do you think he would say to me? For what I have decided for our kingdom?"

Auru remained silent, considering what to say. It was such a broad question asked by Zelda, such a question that needed an appropriate answer—a _proper _answer that was honest and direct, for if he delivered incorrectly, she would never forgive herself for past mistakes.

"He would say you have grown into a young lady befitting of her title as queen. Responsible, wise and kind—"

"I am not kind. When the Zora boy gave me the pearl, I did not say thank you or even smile at the treasure."

"You were nervous."

"And when I was with Midna, I never truly thanked her enough for what she did for our world."

"Time was not in your hands."

"My thanks to the hero never reached his ears nor touched his heart. I am not kind, Auru, I am just a princess and that is all I ever will be." Her hands trembled as she gripped onto her white skirts. With a shaking sigh, her shoulders sagged as she drew a deep breath, attempting to calm the storm within her.

"A queen," he corrected.

"The title is not what matters. Titles are useless. It is the person who bears the title that is significant."

"And the woman who bears the title of queen is one of the most insightful, compassionate and intelligent student I have ever taught in my years as a tutor."

Zelda nodded. There was no possible way she could win any argument against Auru, for he was as sharp as a soldier's blade in practically every subject matter. Why else had her father assigned him to be her personal tutor for innumerable years? And after all he had taught her, he was still here. Still teaching her the ways of a queen in making, still by her side as an advisor like he had done with her father before her, giving much needed advice in a confusing and difficult stage of her life.

"To dinner, Auru?" she asked, wiping her eyes with clumsy fingers.

"If it is what you wish, I shall call a server to arrange a meal. In your room, Your Grace?"

"That would be wise," she said.

It pained her for Auru to see her in such a weak state. He knew she was a weakling, a queen not ready to rule a kingdom in shatters. Yet, deep down, she knew she had the courage of a hero to continue to rule as she had done the previous days. Each day she wore the mask of a queen, and each day she felt it crack from pressure.

Now that the builders across the provinces reported successful projects, she could only hope the mask would be strong enough to last a year.

* * *

Dinners in her rooms were rare, and since they were so unusual, most of the castle staff grew a concern for their queen whenever she took a meal to her beds. If she was ill, depressed or possibly frustrated, they knew she was not in any good mood to show herself in public. So, being the kind people they were, they sent her up a tray with golden rims and bejewelled diamonds, of silver platters and bowls of roasted venison, boiled leeks, broiled ham and mushroom soup. In the middle of all, a porcelain vase of flowers sat, their bright yellow petals urging her to smile.

And so her lips curved upwards as she touched the soft petals, remarked at their effect on her.

"Thank you, Hera," she called to the maid. "But I am not hungry. Could you fetch me a heating pad for my feet?"

"Yes, Your Grace," the girl said.

Hera grabbed the iron handle and opened its jaws with a click of a button, scooping the burning embers into its mouth. Then she placed the hot metal beneath the duvet by Zelda's feet and tucked the covers over.

"Hera," Zelda said as the young maid gathered the tray in her hands. "Thank you. For everything."

Before the maid could leave, she turned and curtsied, her long blue skirt flowing as she rose up.

"It is our duty, Your Grace." The girl smiled softly. "What shall we do with your meal?"

"Do not let it go to waste. Feed it to anyone who is willing to eat all of it," she chuckled. "Good-bye, Hera."

The maid blushed. "You are very kind, Your Grace."

As Zelda drifted off to sleep, she thought about was what she had done in the past year. The surrendering, the conflict, the way she felt trapped in a tower with nowhere to go. And she knew for a certainty she did everything she did—good deeds and bad deeds—was for the betterment of her kingdom and her people.

* * *

In the light of the rising sun, air wraps around her like a cocoon of silk. It breezes by, slips across the skin of her arms, around her torso and flies above her head. It loops around and around, circulating until she is spinning slowly, dancing with it in midair. She laughs as the wind pushes her long hair, floating the soft strands until it is as if she is underwater. The dark tendrils swirl gently above her head, swishing this way and that. And then…

_Darkness._

It rises, swarms, consumes its entire path. She tries to run, tries to scream, but all she can do is stand as her kingdom darkens as if a storm brews from above. Her castle is the only light source, its stone walls and banners ablaze in the darkness that surrounds it.

She swallows painfully. She did not want this. She was not ready for this. Not ready to face the oncoming danger.

So she runs and hides, only to be found and captured by masked men, their long claws digging into her flesh. They drag her in chains to a barren room. The stone walls are a cold silence; they give her little comfort as she tries to sleep.

Sleep never arrives. Suddenly, she is ripped from the familiar bleakness and out in a large lit room. She is flying again and she smiles, loving the wind that greets her like an old friend. She readies an embrace, ready to dance again.

The wind is malformed. Dark, angry spears float with it and swirl, waiting for a command. Cold pierces her heart. Her body revolts, tries to fight against it as the coldness seeps through her skin, through her blood, to her heart. She wants to scream, but she cannot. She wants to cry for help, but she has no voice. She wants to fight against it, but it consumes her.

So she lies limp and watches as her limbs move against her will. A sword flies to her hand, an evil voice laughs from her mouth, and she walks to him, armed and ready.

She is in the air again, this time with her sword. Her hand wields it with deadly accuracy. Her stomach lurches as she flies down and aims for his heart.

All the while she is laughing.

And all the while his eyes dance with anger.

When their swords clash, he shouts:

_Zelda, wake up!_

* * *

She awakened with blood drained from her body, hands shaking and feet oddly cold. The hot pad placed at the bottom of the bed had not done its job throughout the night again. No matter how hard she tried to make sleeping comfortable, Zelda could not escape the inevitable nightmares occurring in her dreams. They were constant, and she feared they would last a lifetime.

The covers flew off her as she went about her day's preparations. The maids helped her get ready by lacing the back of her lilac dress first, and then placing the golden armour upon her shoulders. They braided her hair and twined it with ribbons. Finally, they added colour to her cheeks and to her lips with a dab of berry dye.

The royal guards opened her doors, and she stepped out into the halls, her posture impossibly straight as she glided down the halls.

She did her day just like any other day. She read letters of concerns from the province representatives, read laws and documents, sat on her high throne and heard petitions from the citizens of Hyrule. Most came from Castle Town with their worries mostly trivial. But she listened and offered solutions to their problems, and they would leave, smiling and happy with a newfound hope.

None really had much of an affect to her. Until one day, a man in humbled rags approached her, his head bowed as his large body, muscular and tall, stumbled to the base of the stairs and kneeled.

"Who might you be?" Zelda asked. "From Ordon, I presume?"

The man's light green eyes glanced at her, astonished from the accuracy of her observation. "Yes, Your Grace," he stuttered, bowing his head down again.

"Arise, young man, and tell me what it is you came all the way to Hyrule's castle," she said. "And please do tell me your name."

The man stood awkwardly, his feet shuffling side to side, and cautiously stared up at her. "F-Fado, m'lady," he said, gathering his hands above the soft orange cloth of his belt. "It's my goat herder, y'see?"

"Goat herder?" Zelda asked, surprised. She did not know of a man who travelled all this way to Castle Town in an inquiry about a goat herder. The strangest thing she had ever heard was about a child—Malo, was it?—who requested five hundred thousand rupees in the start-up of his shop. And he lived in Castle Town, too.

"Yes, goat herder." The man nodded, still twisting the belt between his fingers. "Your Grace," he added nervously.

"Please expand upon the goat herder situation."

"He ran away a couple o' weeks ago. I never seen him since."

"Do you wish to gather a search party for this goat herder?"

"Y-yes, m'lady. That is why I came to the castle."

"Excellent. Do you know of his name? Where he was seen last? Any problems he had?"

"He was seen last talking to Ilia, a village woman and a close friend of his. I ain't an eavesdropper or nothin', but they was pretty secretive and close when I accidentally crossed them. At first I thought they was going to get married or some such thing as that, but for the next couple of days, Ilia sat mopin' around and Link was nowhere to be seen."

"Link?" Zelda gasped. "Link?"

"Yeah, that right there is the goat herder. My ranch is useless without him—"

Fado's words drowned out as her cold frail fingers reached her mouth, trying to contain the shock from within. The pronunciation of Link's name sent shivers up and down her spine, and she, clutching onto her scarlet red lips, leaned forward and interrupted the blabbering man.

"This man, where is he? Do you know?"

Baffled, the man stood frozen in place. "E-excuse me? Your Grace, what's the concern for the goat herder?"

"Do you not know? Do you not know of his desire?"

"His desire, ma'am?" Fado drew away, his eyes widened with worry for the queen. Wearily, he stepped forward and placed his hand before him. "Are you all right?"

"I'm—," she sank back into her seat, "I'm fine."

"All right, ma'am," Fado breathed. "So, do y'know where he is?"

She spoke solemnly as she gazed into the clouds, their soft wisps gathering around the sun and shielding its rays. "He has ran into the forest."

"The forest?" He asked eagerly.

"Yes, the forest." She stared at him, watching as the smile on his face wipe away into one wrinkled with worry. "I do not know which forest he has gone to, but he has left Ordon in the hopes of acquiring some solitude from all the events of the past."

His lips scowled as his eyes lightened with fury. "Bu-but why would he leave? Ordon needs him!"

"It is what he desired. And let us hope he can obtain it."

"This is ridiculous! Link leaving? He—" Fado clutched onto his hair. Exasperated, his hands whipped down as his face heated in anger. "He wouldn't do that!"

"He has, Fado," she said softly. Tears threatened to spill onto her cheeks as she watched this young man squabble with himself, and as she looked onto his fumbled ramblings, all she could think of was how she was the one who delivered a blow to his hope.

"Why? Why?" he cried. "He had a happy life! He was supposed to marry Ilia and become the mayor of Ordon, and then maybe have a few kids and start his own farm and—"

She began to walk down the steps cautiously, unsure of how to approach him as his hands thrashed around. "Fado—" she started, but only to be stopped as he babbled.

"—and—and," he sniffed, "and he and I was supposed to grow some goats together and fish in the pond just like good ol' times. I just don't believe him goin' into the forest!"

With a comforting hand, she patted him on the shoulder and said soothing words: "He is a changed man and is no longer the boy you once knew. You and I cannot control what he will do and what he does. It is he who is his own master, and it is he who chose to go into the forest."

"Doesn't he want to return to a normal life? Why is he adventurin' when he already went adventurin'?"

"This time," she smiled as he glanced up at her, "he will be at peace."

"I just don't get it." He wiped his nose with his forearm, and then his eyes brightened with a revelation. "Will he be back?"

She wanted to say she was uncertain, for it was the truth, yet Fado needed comforting words, and so she said the words he wanted to hear: "He will be back. I assure you."

"I hope it'll happen soon," he sniffled. "I'm gonna run out o' goats if he doesn't come and herd 'em!"

A feeling of relief overcame her chest as a little weight lifted off it, and for once she smiled in jovial laughter as the two held each other arm in arm like two long lost friends.

"Oh, I am sure you will do fine!"

"Nu uh!" Fado said. "Mayor Bo always gives me a heck of time when a goat escapes. It isn't my fault I don't have a way with animals the way Link does."

"With due time, they will respect you as a master." Gently, she rubbed his shoulder as they broke away from her comforting embrace.

The sobbing ceased as Fado's reddened face returned to its normal complexion. Embarrassed, he shifted away from her and gave her a soft smile. "My thanks, Princess Zelda. I-I apologize for such . . . rash behaviour."

"Do not even think about it, for it is a silly notion to stress over. Just be on your way and forget it ever happened if it helps you."

He nodded. "I will, Your Grace. And I'll listen to your wise words of advice and wait Link to return."

"As will the rest of Hyrule."

Fado bowed and left the room, leaving Zelda to ponder. As she stared at the royal blue tapestries hanging from the tall ceiling of the throne room, she crossed her arms and thought of all the legends of old, when men in ragged animal skins wandered into the forest to face their true selves, and of how the men slowly grew insane as the trees whispered sweet nothings to him, of the past, of their misdeeds.

The terrible thoughts of Link's future forced her to leave the throne room and into the large library of the castle. She walked briskly to her desk and drew out parchments, a well of ink, and the quill of a hawk. It had been weeks since he had been gone, and she feared for the worst as she jotted onto the page, blotting her writing as she wrote messily. She wrote whatever came to mind and did not so much as glance at it when she finished.

Into the gardens she went, where the trees' leaves showed the hints of an early autumn— golds, reds, and oranges twisted together in an illusion of a setting sun. By a pile of fallen leaves lied the hawk grass swaying with the breeze. She picked it up and blew into it. Melodious sounds floated out of it, high and sweet as it serenaded to its listener.

A beautiful brown hawk landed on her forearm. It peered at her, its eyes curious as to who she was, but for whatever reason, it was not afraid of her.

"Hello," she hushed. "Will you deliver this to a . . . dear friend of mine?"

The hawk tilted its head as it stared at her. With her free hand, she cautiously attached the rolled parchment with a blue ribbon on its heel. As soon as her hand left, the hawk's great wings flapped into the air. She watched its silhouette against the sky until it disappeared from sight and she was left alone. Silently, the trees all around her let loose their golden leaves and fluttered in the wind. And she panicked.

The hawk did not know who Link was.


	3. Lust Turns to Dust

**~ 3 ~**

**Lust Turns to Dust**

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_You cannot find love and force it to happen like a bird of prey. Love will always find you on its own, free as the feathers of a hawk that flies in the wind. _

**~::-x-::~**

She had fallen in love once. It came quick like a summer's wind during the hot seasons before it left her to wither and die, leaving her for the vultures to feast.

It was in the summer of her seventeenth year when her father invited Prince Arsen as a suitor for Zelda. He came in with his royal entourage, perfumed and plucked pristinely with a suit of vibrant silk, and with black hair that was darker than the ebony circlet upon his forehead. He walked in boldly, his eyes scouring the throne room with its large marble pillars and the huge monument above the throne. Zelda did not like the way he strutted in as if he owned the place, as if this were his castle in Esteria, when he was just a guest and a potential partner for the Crown Princess.

He knelt before her with the rest of his entourage. They wore matching golden and white uniforms which coordinated with his clothing.

"His Highness Prince Arsen III, may I present to you Her Highness Crown Princess Zelda VI," the royal caller announced.

"Greetings, Prince Arsen," Zelda began, coolly nodding. Her father was not to be seen as he had already examined the man's riches and behaviours closely and, deciding that he would be a great spouse, he sent him forth to Zelda, who would do her own judging without the biased pressures from the king.

Arsen stood and bowed along with his entourage. "Princess Zelda, the sixth of her name, I am pleased to finally meet your acquaintance. Your parents and mine have talked about our future marriage immensely."

"Potential," she corrected. She was still unsure if she should marry such a man who talked so briskly without a breath between sentences.

"Oh, yes. Potential, of course," he said before shooting off into a long speech. "I have heard such great things about you, Princess. My parents spoke that your beauty resembles the great Goddess Hylia in countenance, and I see now that they told no lies, for you are the first woman I have seen with such sapphire eyes the colour of oceans across the lands. And your hair is the colour of sweet chocolate in the shadows, and yet," he sighed with false longing, "it is the colour of bright strawberries in the sunlight."

Zelda watched stoically as he continued to compliment her looks. Such sweet talk would do nothing to please her, and after about five minutes of hearing him serenade her with honeyed words, he realized that she would not woo over him.

"So we only have a week to get to know each other. Let us make it last," he smiled and his grey eyes glimmered, true to the curve of his lips.

She returned his and nodded. "Yes, let us," she replied. "I will meet you in the sitting rooms in the evening. My best maid will accompany you during your stay here. Nina," she called to the maid standing by the wall. The young maid nodded in acknowledgement, averting her gaze from anyone who watched her. Arsen eyed her carefully from toe to head. "Please show Arsen to his rooms and ensure he will have a pleasant stay."

Zelda was young, and upon looking back at it, foolish and naïve to see what love really was. What she had with Arsen at the time was not true love but rather a strange infatuation for his mystical look. She loved his wavy black hair, how it resembled a raven's black feathers, but most of all, she was enchanted by his eyes which held irises of such a light grey that they almost rivaled the whites of snow. She loved the way he portrayed himself through confidence and cunning, but what she denied to see was what lied beneath the mask he wore. A week was not enough to fall in love and really get to know him as person. However, it was enough to fall under lust's spell which intensified during their prolonged meetings.

The first meeting took place during tea in the sitting rooms. They were alone with no watchful eyes. Arsen sat across from her, his legs lazily splayed out as he draped across the sofa, claiming that he was tired. That was when she saw how tall he was, how lean and long his limbs and torso were, and how his eyes lightened with passion as he spoke of ideas and told breathtaking stories with a voice of velvet. And, as Arsen brought up a unique trading route system to increase goods across nations, she saw how intelligent he was and how his ideas were truly brilliant. In a way, that brilliance opened a door of admiration for him. As each day passed, his handsome looks and romantic charm grew over her like tendrils of ivy until it covered her whole and trapped her in a cocoon of green.

During his last few days, they ran off together and hid in an abandoned room of the castle with furniture covered in white sheets, curtains drawn and a dust of film on every surface. Dust floated in the air as the two burst in, slamming the door behind them. They giggled at their recklessness, their cheeks rosy and red at their closeness. Arsen drew in a breath once they stopped laughing, and she, in the heat of the moment, clutched onto his velvet shirt, pulled him towards her, and landed a kiss on what meant to be his lips. Instead, her lips landed on the smoothness of his cheek.

"What is wrong?" she asked. She laid a hand where she had kissed him and forced him to look into her eyes.

He averted her glare and smiled softly. "This is too soon. If anyone were to see us now, it would be the end of us."

"We are alone," she said coyly, stroking his cheek, "and I believe we are in the relationship stage for physical intimacy."

"That stage comes after marriage," he said promptly. He withdrew his cheek away from her touch and furiously wiped the kiss she left. "We should not be doing this. It is wrong and we are not even of age!" he hissed.

"One more year is hardly anything at all," she said. The strap of her dress fell off her shoulder and she yanked it up with irritation written over her face. "Lovers together lay down together. Do you not love me as I love you?"

"We shall wait until marriage," he replied with an expression cold as ice. He soothed down the fabric she soiled and walked out the room with the same careful steps he took when she first saw him.

She watched him wander down the halls through the crack of the door. "Then I shall have to marry you, dear Arsen," she murmured, and slowly, she felt her heart lose the flair it had moments ago. With sad steps, she returned to her rooms.

The next day she could not find Arsen anywhere, not even in their secret spots where he told her vivid tales and recited poetry with that velvety voice of his murmuring in her ear. In the scented gardens, both the indoors and the outdoors, he was not to be seen admiring the beauty of the roses he showered her with days ago. He did not sit in the dining halls during meals where many dined and shared a merry moment. His presence was not even in the sitting rooms where honoured guests passed their time.

She had news to tell him, news that she was sure he would be overjoyed with, for she, after pondering for a split second, hastily made the judgement that they were two halves of a whole, convinced that the goddesses sent him to Hyrule with a purpose. And that purpose was to fall in love and marry.

Alas, she had somewhat found him. She accidentally came across two young guards gossiping in the kitchen area. She stood by the threshold of the door to hear what they said.

"Prince Arsen must be having a wild time with the princess," one chuckled.

The other moaned hoarsely, emitting sounds which sounded animal-like until it escalated into panting. The two burst into laughter.

"I would be the happiest man alive if I could share the bed of the princess for one night," the first one said.

Zelda's heart skipped a beat. She was somewhat confused as to what they talked about. She had never stepped into Arsen's room, yet alone shared his bed. She grew angry at the thought for he had a princess with him willing to embrace him whole.

"The closest we will ever get is standing outside Arsen's door," the second guard said with a joking tone.

Having enough, Zelda emerged from her shadows and walked in, standing out in the kitchen's shabby interior with her bright red dress.

"What are you gentlemen discussing about?" she said coolly, walking to the counter. A loaf of bread with a knife sticking into its flesh caught her attention. She gripped onto the knife and cut herself a piece.

The two men grew silent and paled at her appearance. The first one to act was the one who joked. He got off his chair and pushed it away, kneeling to the cold ground, his hands shaking and breath halted. "Your Grace," he mumbled. The other man followed his example, his chair scrapping the floor as he bent down in respect, echoing his comrade's words.

"Arise, men," she smiled, taking a bite of her bread. "Now tell me, what of Arsen's rooms?"

"He has taken great pleasure with a lady in his beds," the first man said. He stood on his feet and averted her gaze.

"Actually, we were guessing it was you—"

"Rondel!" the guard said, elbowing the man in the ribs indicating for him to cease his words.

"I have never set a foot in Prince Arsen's rooms," said she, her lips pursed as she went about thinking. "You sure there was a lady with him?"

"Of course," Rondel said. "It kept us up most nights." He grinned a yellowed smile.

The other guard rolled his eyes at his friend. "If it was not you, my lady, then perhaps it was the servant girl Nina. She always is going into his rooms, that one, when the prince has his own staff for his needs. She is just a tour guide, not his maid."

With that, Zelda felt her heart drop into an abyss. Her eyes flashed furiously as she gazed at the two guards before her. "Is this the truth?"

"No guard will lie to the queen, Your Grace," the guard said. Rondel nodded beside him, still smiling and taking great delight in such gossip.

"I will have to see it with my own eyes to believe such accusations," Zelda replied, though, at the back of her mind, she believed them to be true.

"If you want, Your Grace," the guard stepped forward, "we can show you."

To pry within one man's private territory went against her morals, but her suspicions forced her to nod her head and reject the guilt lingering in her chest. The three of them, Rondel and the other guard named Theodore, walked up the steps in the guest's towers, quiet as mice in the night. They did not speak as Rondel led them through, his eyes sharp and quick as he inspected each hall before motioning for them to continue forth. It was ironic that she, a princess of her own castle, should be sneaking around and snooping at her guest's rooms. Nonetheless, they finally reached their destination at the top of the tower where the flickering of firelight emitted at the bottom of the door.

Rondel placed his ear to the door and motioned her to kneel down. She did as she was told and gazed into the keyhole, seeing nothing but the dark green couch and a bare foot of a woman's. She stifled a gasp and made her ears listen.

"I will be sad when you leave tomorrow," the young woman said, and it was a very familiar voice, high and sweet like the song of a lark's.

"You have nothing to fear, Nina," Arsen's voice soothed, "for you will be coming along with me, my sweet Ordona pumpkin."

Shadows moved against the walls into a form of two lovers in a passionate embrace. They separated as the head of the shorter shadow gazed up into the eyes of the taller one.

"Do you really mean…?" Nina started.

"I will decline the princess's request for marriage and elope with you."

"But your father," cried the maid, "would he be angered at such sudden love?"

"Please, my pumpkin," Arsen said, "I am the youngest prince of seven. The only son father truly cares about is the eldest."

A hushed breath and the sound of lips pressed together followed. "I accept!" cried the young maid, joyous and voice shaking. The sound of happy sobs emitted throughout the room until Zelda felt like crying herself.

Not waiting to feel her heart tear in two, she left the lovers with bitterness and spite in her eyes.

.

Graciously, he had left with the maiden Nina in his arms. Zelda pretended she did not hear his words of betrayal to the young lady, pretended that he was nothing more than a suitor rather than a man she lusted for. He gave his farewell, politely told her that another love had found him and thus any advancement in their relationship ceased. She took it calmly, but within her, she felt as if she were crumbling apart like the stones of an old tower.

She hid her inner turmoil well and only behind closed doors did she cry out in pain. Each day, as she looked into the mirror, she did not see a princess but a woman with empty eyes and sallow cheeks. It took her months to get over her heartbreak. To comfort herself, she thought of how Nina was not as pretty as she, for her plainness brought her a feeling of superiority over the maid. And yet, as she pondered in silence, she knew that Arsen did not love Nina for her looks but for her friendly disposition and carefree nature. Reluctantly, she had come to the conclusion that a princess, proper and elevated, would be an unwise match in love with Arsen, for he was the youngest of princes and the most wild and rebellious. Nina would provide a life of joy for him, whereas if he had chosen a life with her, he would be shackled to the throne of Hyrule.

There was a picture of him she had kept during these months. It lied in a golden frame, surrounded by diamonds that did not outshine his breathtaking appearance. And each day, she would take the picture out and trace her fingers over the curve of his lips, pretending that he was with her. As her hands skimmed the smooth glass on a sunny afternoon, she found that she could not recall a single character trait of his besides being beautiful and intelligent. And that was the day she knew she had never loved him but _lusted _for him with his ebony hair, snow white eyes and his confident charm.

It was unlike her in her heartbroken state to set the painting into the fountain. She expected herself to whisk it across the room, letting the glass case shatter, the gold to dent and the diamonds to scatter. Yet she climbed out of her bed in the middle of the night and set the painting beneath the cool surface of the fountain in the garden. It was not completely gone for she knew some gardener would find its discarded carcass and properly dispose of it, and then it would be lost forever.

**~::-x-::~**

The queen sat in the library amongst the walls of bookcases piled high. Her legs dangled from a spiral staircase, which was like a stairway to heaven with its tall height, as she looked down to the hardwood flooring of the library. A servant waved to her from below.

"Queen Zelda," he called, bowing to her. "There is a letter for you."

"From whom?" she asked, placing the ribbon between the pages of her book. She closed it shut and walked down the steps. The servant thrust his hands forwards, bearing the letter she immediately recognized. It was _her _letter, the letter which she sent Link weeks ago. Anxiously, she grabbed it from his hands and scanned the page. Her heart fell. There was no response but her handwriting, discussing the dangers of living in the woods with scurried words blotted and dripped with ink.

"Check the back, Your Grace," the servant said quietly.

She did as she was told, flipping the paper over to see crude drawings in black, crumbling dust. She gasped, for there on her own parchment were words written in charcoal.

.

_Dear Zelda,_

_It is an honour to be concerned by you. Yet it worries me that you continue to fret after all these months. I have done nothing disastrous and have not been affected by the forest's hypnotic silence nor will I ever be. I do not like to admit that there is a foreboding loneliness lingering in the air and it frightens me so. If you could, I would not mind if you sent another letter. _

_Keep calm, Zelda, and remember that I will return someday._

_Link_

_P.S. – Since I had no paper, I used yours to write with charcoal. Forgive me for such informalities. _

_._

She smiled. Not only had he received and read her letter, but he had also written her back and requested for more. Of course she would continue to send him letters until he returned home.

"Jared," she said to the serving boy, "please gather me parchments and charcoal that does not crumble along with a parcel of raw meat."

He returned moments later as she jotted down quick words of her day and the state of Hyrule after he had gone. After she was done, she squeezed all the contents but meat into a light box. They went outside into the garden, the chilly air biting at their bare cheeks. Cold mists floated from their mouths as they breathed. She smiled, for the crisp air always refreshed her so. The hawk grass still grew underneath the tree and was the only plant that did not die from the coming winter. She picked the stern stem of the plant and blew into the hawk-shaped leaf. And, suddenly, a weight fell upon her arm and the hawk gazed at her, still curious as to who and what she was. She stroked its feathers, admiring how soft and beautiful they were.

"Hello," she said, feeding him the meat. The bird gulped it down and then gazed at her, expecting for more. She feed him another slice. "So we meet again."

Jared tied the box onto its feet and she let it fly. It was like an angel as it flew. Its great wings a wondrous silhouette against the bright blue sky, and once its black shape disappeared, she sighed and said to the serving boy, "Hawks are often considered as bearers of awakening and messengers of wisdom and truth."

"They are also better messengers than doves as they are strong and can fend off other predators," Jared said. They returned to the castle's interior. The warmth of the fires seeped through the coldness of their cloaks. He bowed to her. "Is there anything else you need?"

"The hawk grass is dying with the coming winter. Please provide me of an instrument that emits the same sound as the leaf of the grass."

Without any questions, Jared bowed. "Yes, Your Grace."

Though the forest's whispers did not get to Link yet, she could only hope to prevent it by giving him company through letters. The first sign of insanity was always the loneliness. Such was the price of living with the beauty of nature.


	4. Of Marriage

**~ 4 ~**

**Of Marriage**

* * *

_All of Hyrule is to wed whomever you choose._

* * *

The rising sun filtered through the conservatory's wide windows. Zelda sipped her tea and gazed up at the sky through the glass ceiling. She admired how grey and cloudy it was in the autumn morning, loving how it reminded her of the calm before a storm. A serving girl refilled the teapot as Auru came in with a large stack of documents. Catlike, he sat down onto the curved chair beside her, brushing aside the plates and pots and replacing them with papers.

"An urgent matter, Queen Zelda," he said. A frown twitched on his mouth as he shuffled through the papers. The serving girl brought him a cup and poured the hot tea into it.

"Well, what is it?" she asked sharply.

"It was a concern of your parents since you were born."

"And…?"

He gulped as he fiddled with the teacup.

"They wished for you to marry. That is all," he said, setting the cup down with a loud bang. Hot tea splashed over him, and he growled and grimaced as he clutched the injured hand. "Blast it!" he cried.

"Marriage?" She paled. Despite the heavy winter dress she wore, the cold seeped within her and bit at her heart, which lurched and cried in horror like a trapped wolf in barren woods. "Marriage, you say?" She was shocked at the word, shocked at the news, news that she had so long ago forgotten and dismissed as one does to cruel inevitabilities.

He nodded, averting her panicked gaze. "Marriage before thirty years of age, they said. And you are nearing the age of twenty-two next spring. If you wish to marry a man you know well—"

"Excuse me," she said hastily, gulping back the bitter taste in her mouth. She set her cup down and gave a last futile look to Auru who shook his head sadly. Neither of them said anything as she left the room, gold slippers and silver skirts brushing against the marble tiles of the conservatory. Ignoring the heavy crown and jewels on her head, she ran.

**~::-x-::~**

The talk of marriage had always caused uneasiness in her stomach, a sick gut feeling that would linger for days, and just when she thought it had disappeared, it would bounce up again, squirming inside of her like a worm on a hook of a fisherman's. Her parents did not know she knew what marriage was, never knew how she feared it and despised it with all her being. It was inevitable and strange and unknown. It was perfectly natural to fear such a thing, for most fears are the ones avoided and untouched.

Like most, she tried desperately to be oblivious of her fate. However, it was inevitable that she marry, unavoidable yet she had tried. The first speech of marriage delivered to her was when she was three, quite oblivious of it then, and soon the oblivious would be a staged act rather than an innocent one.

Her father placed her on his lap, his huge hand around her small shoulder as his white beard tickled the top of her head. His voice, loud and booming, spoke softly above her, and she looked up, smiling at the familiarity of it, smiling because she did not know the seriousness of it and the severe consequences of her choice when it would happen.

Her mother sat across from her, lips curved prettily at the cuteness of the pair. If one to look upon them in that moment, they would see the royal family as happy and perfect, but would not know that it would fall apart as her years ticked by from childhood to adolescence to early adulthood.

"Marriage," he had said, "is inevitable for you, little one."

"What does in-e-fit-able mean?"

"You shall have to do it when the time comes."

"Will I have a husband then?"

"Oh, yes," her mother said, "do not fret, Zelda. We will find you a suitable match."

"I do not want a husband. Boys are such silly creatures!"

Her father laughed then, the hearty laugh she had always enjoyed because it was so contagious, and so her mother laughed along with him, and soon a little giggle emitted from her. Confused, she looked up at him with big blue eyes and tugged on his beard. "It is the truth! Is it not?"

"Dear me," her father said, "your views on the male species will change one day. Let us hope the one you like the most is one who is brave to rule by your side."

"I will rule this land?"

"Yes," her mother replied. "It will happen, whether you like it or not. The workload will pile onto you until there is a room to swim in with papers everywhere. So that is why you will have a king by your side to rule with you, to ensure that there will never be a pool of papers to swim in."

Her father poked her in the nose and she, surprised, widened her eyes and almost fell off his knee. He caught her quickly and both laughed jovially as her mother looked on, horrified at an almost-accident.

"What if I wished for a pool of papers to swim in?" she asked.

"When you are older, that wish will cease," her mother said, and with it, a tone of sadness in her voice.

"Now run along, dear. It is well pass your bedtime." He set her down, and she pecked his cheek before scampering off with her nanny.

Before the doors shut behind her, she heard the hushed voices of her parents arguing on a prince named Arsen. She wondered who he was, and what they were so angry about.

The matter of Prince Arsen continued to grow throughout her childhood. She heard them speak of him occasionally in hissed sounds, where her mother's eyes and lips hardened into ice and her body was frozen as she looked away from father's stern gaze and reddened face. She realized that this matter was tearing both her parents apart. She was angered by their secrecy and of the madness they shared between them, thus she decided to spontaneously march into their study during such heated debates and scream at them, yelling at each baffled parent to tell her what they spoke of her and to tell her who this Prince Arsen fellow was and to please stop getting mad at each other.

The king looked at the queen with such sadness in his eyes, he looked as if he were about to cry. He excused himself and stumbled into the backroom, closing the heavy doors behind him. Her mother rushed to her, kneeling down to come to eye level of the seven year old princess, and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Her mother's blues eyes glistened with tears as she looked into her daughter's.

"Forgive us, Zelda," she choked out, the stifled noise barely audible.

Zelda was frightened to see her mother cry. It was the first time she saw her mother's eyes water and voice crack with pain. Because of this, she knew that her mother was not a goddess who protected her like she had so often imagined, but was a mortal like her who cried the same tears and had similar feelings.

Like most mortals, they needed comfort.

"Stop…just stop with the fighting, mama," she responded, pulling her mother into a hug. "It is not good for you or father and it hurts me to see both of you so miserable."

"It is for all our sakes and the sake of Hyrule."

"Hyrule can have a vacation. _You_ need a vacation!"

Her mother laughed at that. "You speak true words. The words of a queen." Her mother withdrew from her embrace and rose. "I must speak with your father. Prepare yourself for dinner in the meanwhile."

Her small hand caught her mother's and grasped it tightly.

"Who is this _Prince Arsen?" _

Her mother looked down at her and sighed. "It is subject that will have to wait until you come of age."

"I am of age!" said she, stomping her foot onto her ground and crossing her arms. "If we are a family, we share no secrets and break no promises."

An expression of worry overcame her mother. It came over her quickly, as if she had an internal pain that she rejected to exist, and it disappeared all at once, as if the placid face had always been there. Gently, she pulled her daughter's hand toward the seats by the opened window, the summer sunlight and wind seeping through the large frames. Her mother sat on the cushion and placed Zelda onto her lap. "Very well," said she, "I will tell you who Prince Arsen is, and how he is connected to you, and why your father and I have such disagreements."

"Tell me everything, mama! It will be like my birthday gift from you," she giggled.

"Silly girl! Your birthday was last month," she grinned back.

"A belated birthday gift?"

"Of course." The joking from her mother had fell and was replaced by a darker, more serious one as she said those two words. She gulped and licked her lips, and Zelda grew worried, for it was what her mother did when she was nervous. The little girl placed a hand on her mother's and looked up with an opened face.

"No lies, mama. I am too old for them."

"Of course," she repeated. "Prince Arsen is a sweet boy, a boy that is your age, and the seventh of princes in Esteria, a kingdom to the far west of Hyrule. I am sure you will like this boy, for he has many of an interest like you. He likes to play his harp, he likes to spend his days in the library, but he also likes to go horseback riding and takes his archery lessons very seriously. Does he not sound like you?"

"Does he like to read legends?"

"He is more interested in reading the legendary heroes of old."

"He sounds like a nice boy," she said flatly. "Is he to be a friend of mine?" She crossed her fingers behind her back, hoping that she would not have to meet such a boy or any boy at all, for each boy she had come across pulled the ribbons from her hair, put bugs on her shoulders or made artificial wind from their armpits.

"He is to be more of a friend when both of you are older. Papa and I are very certain that you will get along well."

Inconspicuously, Zelda looked ahead with dread in her chest, which she clutched to calm its fluttering heartbeats. "Is he to be the future king of Hyrule?"

"A possibility…"

She leapt off her mother's lap and cried with horror, "I do not want to spend my life with a stranger who rules beside me!"

Without another word spoken, she ran away, ran from the fate thrust upon her, ran from her mother's truths, her father's ignorance, and ran to the indoor gardens where she found comfort and solace among the bright colours of the plants, who were silent and still and did not offer anything, not pain or the trivial emotions that delved like a dagger into the heart, but the simple beauty of nature that entranced such souls who felt betrayed.

**~::-x-::~**

Among the pastel pink of the cascading camellias, among the dying red roses and the bursting yellows of dahlias, she sat huddled within a bed of flowers, curling her knees under her chin as the tears of memories' past haunted her. A reckless child, she was—a child who was both selfish and egocentric, a child who had hurt the ones she held dear, and a child who did not understand such important impacts of the future. And, in some uncertain way, she still did not know of her future and was still frightened of it, for she had developed a comfortable lifestyle of loneliness without a loved one by her bed or a loved one to sit and talk to during meals. She did dream of acquiring some such man to hold her once, but she knew if she hoped and wished, that it would not come true, and that it would only end in failure with a husband she did not love as king.

At the back of her mind, she had found the small pocket of suppressed reasoning, which she finally burrowed through to find how silly she was for ignoring the inevitable, how silly she was for still acting like that ignorant child she was years ago.

She wiped the tears away from her eyes and drew in the sweet air of flowers.

It was time to grow up.

* * *

Days later, she told Auru that she accepted her parent's concern of marriage. He, surprised at the brief news, banged his cup of coffee down and splashed his hand once more. Gripping onto his burned hand again, he smiled broadly, ignoring the pain.

"What made you decide for such a change?" he asked.

She spoke briskly, wanting to end the conversation. It was an agreement she did not like, yet she knew she must overcome it before she lost her sudden surge of bravery. "I know that you are nearing sixty-five this coming winter, and I know that you will retire soon, but I know you will not retire until I find someone to help me with the kingdom's matters. So, once I am looked after, I will have a husband who will have the same abilities as me to lessen the workload of Hyrule. I do not want to be a burden to you any longer, Auru."

"A wise choice, Your Grace. Remember the wise words of your mother, for she is the one who was the most flexible on your future marriage, that whomever you choose to marry, all of Hyrule will wed him as well."

"I know that." She wanted to snap with a fiery flare, angered at such sad memories, but it came out sounding like the weak cinders of a long lost fire. "This discussion will be ceased now," she said immediately after. "I do know for one that I will marry before I am thirty, as you had suggested. Time may be running short, so I will look over the available suitors before I make a final decision. Will you find eligible bachelors for me?"

"Yes, Your Grace, as it please you," he replied, wary of the tremors in her hands.

She walked away, quite shaken at the conversation, quite nervous for the events to come. What if she chose incorrectly? What if the man she wed was a tyrant, a deceiver, a trickster or a fool? She went through the doors and into the cold air, pacing around in the outdoor gardens full of dying plants and bare limbed trees. She wore her fur trimmed dress fit for winter weather, yet she still felt a chill that came from within her and raked against her spine until she shuddered violently.

She could rule the kingdom alone. She could have a child with a man and not wed him at all, and that child would be her successor…

She shook her head. What a false hope! It was not possible. Eyes of the people would judge her as an improper queen and thus unfit to rule. If she were to have an heir, she would have to marry as it was a tradition, and the people of Hyrule loved the wedding festivities that lasted two weeks. Full of wine, food, good fun and dancing, it was something the Hyruleans looked forward to each time they heard a prince or princess was born, for they were accustomed for each child to be married off when they came of age, and to celebrate was a brief glimpse into what lavish lifestyle the royal family lived and they shared their tiches with all people, a symbol of wealth and prosperity.

The thought sent her stomach hurling inside her. Dizzy, she stumbled until she found her hand on the ledge of a stone wall gathered with slumbering bushes on top. She almost screamed at the sight of two beady eyes staring into her as she looked up. It was if the eyes that belonged to such a creature stripped away her clothing, her skin and saw the bare bones which lay beneath her, and she shuddered and stifled the cry. Then the remarkable feeling of recognition enveloped her whole as soon as she saw the light brown feathers of her hawk friend. Attached to his ankle was a letter in the parchments she had given to Link weeks ago.

She tore it off with eager hands and read it there on the spot, for she felt a strange sadness and a sense of joy to see a letter from him. There was a comfort she attached to his words which were gentle yet sweet and to the point.

.

_Dear Zelda,_

_The state of Hyrule sounds prosperous after all the people went through. Invisible_

_horrors lurked by each passing day of Twilight's hour, horrors that sometimes killed people or played with them, taunting them with sounds that make your spine crawl with shivers, before consuming them whole or brutally murdering them. The monsters are gone but their skeletons remain, haunting the people they had cursed with their presence. _

_I think it would be very kind and wise of you to check up on these people, to see how they are doing, and in return, they will view you as an enlightened queen who is genuine and kind. I know that you may not think you are at times, but you really are—I can see it. I saw it when you last spoke to me, when you spoke to me as a wolf, and when we battled against evil. It is perfectly fine to peel away the mask of a queen and show your true side to your people. Trust me. They will not be afraid to see who sleeps behind the mask. _

_ Link_

_._

She clutched the letter in her hands and went to find Auru.

He was in the study as he usually was, gazing out at the grey gloom of Castle Town, the rain falling hard in large droplets that splashed against the windowsill. He turned to her, sensing her presence, and smiled.

"What is in your hands?" he asked calmly, a knowing glint in his eyes.

"It is nothing," said she, folding it in tidy squares with the words on the inside. "I have a request for you, as you are the one who went to each province and oversaw a few building projects, and I do hope that you will side with me on my proposal."

"I am yours, so whatever it is you want, I will try to obtain it."

"Yes…" Though he had spoken words of loyalty to her, she still felt as if he would disapprove of Link's plans, disapprove of her venturing out of the castle walls, which she had hardly done before. The only time she had was when Midna warped her out of there into Hyrule Field. It was a brisk experience. Danger lurked near and was not a time to see the sky and land as it were in its beauty.

"Go on with it," Auru continued, still standing before her as she hesitated.

"I wish to visit the provinces and see how the people are faring. Is it all right if I have such a request? I know that you are always concerned for my wellbeing _out _of the walls—as had my parents done before—but I am a queen now and—" She cut herself off before she could ramble aimlessly, further weakening her argument.

Auru laughed heartily and placed his hands on her shoulder with a sudden _thud. _"You are a grown woman—a queen! Do whatever you wish to do. A queen does not ask. She _commands."_

"Yes, a queen does command," she echoed, quite dazed at his acceptance. "But do you think it wise for me to leave the castle when there are further plans to do?"

"I will oversee everything," he assured. "We can correspond with letters and you can command my every move."

"It will not be a very long travel time, I hope. I want to pack lightly and visit each province to see how everything is doing."

"And so you shall," Auru boomed. "The first time out of castle walls in forever will be a grand experience for you! And let us hope you will gain more wisdom through these memories."

* * *

She returned to her rooms with a light gait, happy at his words, joyous at her future adventure. Perhaps her life would not be so bleak after all, perhaps she will gain a taste of life in which Arsen and his bride Nina led—only if it were to be a brief moment, it would be well worth it.

Jared entered her rooms as she had asked with a plate of raw chicken and two small boxes in his left hand.

"Your Grace, I had found this box among the gutters of the balcony. It looks quite familiar, does it not?" He thrust the white box to her.

She took the box out of his hands and examined it. "This is the box I had sent with all the papers and pens. I wonder what could be in it?" She unwrapped the makeshift ribbon of twined reeds, pulled back the folds of the box, and saw a dark U-shaped figure in the poor lighting. With cautious hands, she pulled it out, feeling its coarse outline, and gasped in awe. "A hawk whistle!" she yelled with joy. A ripped piece of paper, wet and blurred with rain, was at the bottom. Carefully, she withdrew the soggy piece and read the words.

.

_I made you a hawk caller for our friend. She will come to you whenever you blow into this._

_Link_

_._

"So the hawk is a she…" she murmured, setting the paper back into the box. She picked up the wooden hawk whistle, a fine craftsmanship with smooth, curved edges and small carved details which created an illusion of feathers. Two yellow jewels served as the eyes, and she wondered where he had acquired such jewels in the wilderness. Perhaps he was not even in the wilderness at all? The thought comforted her.

"As you requested, Your Grace," Jared said as he bowed, presenting her with the other small box that glistened in the minimal candlelight. On every surface imaginable, jewels sprawled everywhere in a geometric design. The box must have had taken ages to make. "From the courtesy of Malo Mart."

She opened it and saw a poor little bird covered in diamonds and sapphires that it looked beyond recognizable. At first glance, she would have guessed it were a peacock and not a hawk. "A hawk whistle?"

"Yes, as you requested," Jared repeated.

"It is lovely," said she, though it were only words of kindness to the young man. "Thank you."

"Good night, Your Grace."

Jared left her alone in her rooms with two boxes, two hawk whistles, and a plate of meat. She decided to try out the whistle Link had created. Her lips went on the smooth hallow part and blew, immediately creating the soft tune she had so often hummed as a child. Though the windows were closed, a dark shape with wings flapped outside. She opened the windows and the hawk, soaked from the rain from hours before, hopped in and ruffled its feathers, causing the carpet to be wet.

"Hello," she said fondly. The hawk flew up and landed by the table where the meat was. She gulped down the offered food within seconds, and then proceeded to stare at Zelda, expecting to do what she had often done.

Zelda went to her desk at the corner and drew out a clean sheet of paper. After she had written her words of thanks to Link, she thought the letter was too short, and so she lost track of time as she piled up three sheets worth of words. Not wanting to waste any of it, she put it into the box she sent ages ago along with the decorated whistle. If he ever needed money, he could sell it.

"Good-bye!" she called to the hawk, watching her strong wings flapping into the air. The hawk's dark shape disappeared into the night sky. She was left alone again with only the candlelight and the full moon's lonely glow to keep her company.

Pondering, she picked up Link's whistle and smiled.


	5. A Visitor in the Dark

**~ 5 ~**

**A Visitor in the Dark**

* * *

_Fears strengthen if one pretends they do not exist, and when they appear again, the fearful are weaker until they become the weakest version of themselves._

* * *

Zelda rode her horse strong and fast, loving how the wind swept across her face and flew her hair back until she felt as if she and the horse floated above the ground and glided to their destination. Behind her were the small entourage she chose to accompany her expedition, riding as fast and furious as she. They were the best riders the castle had to offer, young, strong soldiers with ambitious and adventurous hearts.

She stopped to a trot, letting the autumn wind cool the sweat which formed on her brow. The rest of the party slowed with her and shadowed her, but only one rode up to her with mischievous smile, a grin that was uneven with one corner of the lip higher than the other. He gave a gracious bow as a greeting.

"Hello, Queen Zelda," he said with a voice as low as rumbling thunder. "I have a concern."

She raised her brows at that, surprised at his directness and initiative. Most found her too intimidating to approach. "What is it?" she asked.

"I see that you have chosen to bring the best riders with only horses and minimum baggage. It would not be a concern of mine had it been spring or summer."

Her eyes widened. A fool she was! In her excitement, she only thought of how quick she could get to the provinces and did not stop to think about the cold, ruthless weather. They had packed small tents, but not the ones that could house them with warmth of a fire.

"We cannot turn back," she said aloud. "We are far too ahead to return. Perhaps we will find someone to lodge us for the nights to come."

"Perhaps," agreed the soldier.

Before the soldier lagged behind, she turned to him. "How much longer until we reach Ordon Village?"

"Two days at most, Your Grace," he replied. "We could camp in the woods before arriving. I will ensure your men will stand on guard and create a gigantic fire to keep you warm."

"It is not the cold I am worried about," she murmured, watching the coming winter's mist curl from her mouth. It was the shadows she feared, but she did not say it to the soldier as he returned to the group of men behind her, smiling and laughing. When they caught her staring, their laughter ceased.

She sighed. Perhaps she should take off the mask of a queen. Perhaps she could speak to them and they would not see her as elevated and 'high maintenance,' as one soldier had called her upon being picked to escort her.

She urged the horse forward and rode.

* * *

Her whole body ached—her back, her abdomen, her legs and arms—it felt as if angry wolves pulled her muscles apart each time she moved them a certain way. Disappointment ringed in her ears. The exhilarating ride had taken its toll on her, and she knew she could go no further.

She stopped her horse and the men behind her halted.

"Let us camp here," she said to them, already dismounting.

"Here?" one said, voice shaking. "Wolves lurk here."

"Wolves lurk in any forest," another responded.

"We are in the middle of Faron woods. Further south and we shall make it to Ordon Village," the man with the thunderous voice said.

"How much further?" she asked, and as she spoke, the weariness twined with her words and forced her to sound weak and a complainer. At this point, she did not care if she came across as selfish. She felt tired to care about how others perceived her behaviour, too tired to think properly, and too tired to stand upright. She would fall gracelessly to the ground and sleep on the forest floor if the horse had not been there to support her.

"Three hours," he replied as he dismounted. He then proceeded to unpack the bags, obviously ignoring the little voice at the back of his head telling him to urge the queen forward, and obligingly took out the tools needed to set up tents. "If you are exhausted, Your Grace, then we shall stop here for tonight."

"It is already sundown," another offered, dismounting his stallion. "No one should travel in the dark."

"You are all too kind," she said numbly. It was the truth. She admired all of them for stopping when they so clearly wanted to continue, but her words came out sounding automatic, as if she did not care what they did as long as they followed her orders. "Such brave men," she tried again, but it came out as a whisper. No one responded as they set themselves to work.

She wanted to assist them in setting up the tents, but found that her legs could not move. Instead, they shook and stumbled in place and refused to budge. She looked around, panicking, for she heard a buzzing in her ears and everything around her looked bleak and fainted, as if she were viewing an ancient painting rather than the lively orange of the sun reflecting off of the forest's grandeur.

"The queen—"

"Is she all right?"

"Her face is ashen!"

Zelda heard them far off into the distance like an echo in a chasm. Her hand reached for them, but her arm felt heavy as if a great invisible force went against its rise, and it fell to her side, limp.

"I am fine," she insisted. But as she said that, her world turned to darkness.

**~::-x-::~**

"Hey, Zelda!" a boy called as she walked among the golden halls of the castle. She turned in her pretty pink dress of flowers, birds, and feathers, and she saw one of the servant boys who mulled around in the kitchen, working days and nights, turning the roasted meats over the spits of the fire. As such, his face was always red and looked as if sweat poured from his forehead.

"Yes?" she asked, curious as to why he called her, curious as to why the group of boys behind him giggled shyly at her.

"Do you want to play a game?"

"What sort of game?"

"A game of dares. Whoever wins is the bravest man of them all," he proclaimed, crossing his arms with a mischievous glint in his eye. The boys behind him echoed his words and nodded in confirmation with loud _hurrahs!_

She glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. Her harp lessons were in fifteen minutes. Biting her lip, she turned to them and said, "I suppose I can spare a few minutes to play with you."

"You are the greatest, Princess!" the boys responded, and all around her, they danced and pranced until they reached a large, ominous looking door. There, the dancing stopped. There, their cries fell to silence.

"Do you know where it leads, Princess?"

"I do not know," said she.

Everyone quieted as they looked at this strange door. Most of the castle's doors were of large mahogany, intricately designed with swirls and little shapes. But not this door. It was made of metal and very plain with no knob.

"I dare you to go in there," mumbled the youngest. She looked at him, a little boy five years younger than her, and still nibbling onto his fingernails and clutching onto a worn teddy-bear in his other hand. He could be no older than three, and yet he was the only one who spoken up in the fear-stricken group.

"Yeah!" said a boy nervously. "Go on in there, Princess. Show your bravery!"

Reluctantly, she stepped forward and placed her hand on the door, examining it in its plainness. It was cold, hard and smooth, but how would one go about opening it? Near the top protruded a little circle. She jumped in her ridiculous clothing and pushed it. The door opened.

A rectangular abyss was cut into the wall of the castle. Nervously, she peered through. Darkness was everywhere. She put her toe into it, testing it as if one were to test cold waters, and found solid ground beneath her feet. With a deep breath, she stepped forth into the abyss.

The door closed behind her.

She spun around. And screamed. And banged on the door. Yelled at the boys for them to get her out. There was no response at all. There would be no response for another two hours, where she cried and was certain that feared things lurked in the dark.

When the door finally had opened, she sprang to her feet in relief and pulled whoever it was into an embrace.

From above, her father's calm voice spoke, "Fears are what makes us stronger. You are brave, Zelda. When you face darkness again, it will not haunt you."

**~::-x-::~**

Zelda awakened to darkness's cold embrace. She rose herself to a sitting position, the heavy fur blankets slipping from her torso, and she saw that she still wore her riding clothes, which were tough and unbearable to sleep in with its lightness. She shivered. Where was the fire the soldier had promised her?

"Queen Zelda," he called from somewhere in the shadows, "I can see your shadow from here. Are you well?"

She turned around and saw the orange glow of the fire, flickering and flashing and blinding her so. She raised a hand to defend herself against its brilliant light and spoke hoarsely, "Yes, I am. A drink of water will do miracles for me, kind man. May you fetch me some?" Her stomach growled loudly. Embarrassed, she laughed it off. "A warm meal will do wonders, too."

"Of course," he responded. Boots shuffled across the dense dirt of the forest, clinks and clangs of dishes clashed together, and the slow trickle of water bubbling like a small stream were heard as he went about doing her requests.

A few moments later, he had popped in her tent as she rubbed the sleep away from her eyes. She drew back in surprise at his sudden materialization and withheld a shriek of terror, for she had not expected him to do such mundane tasks so quickly, yet here he was, in front of her with that silly smirk and wandering eyes that took great delight in her crude reaction.

"Forgive me, Your Highness, for there was no door to knock upon," he said with a sly bit of humour in his tone.

She did not laugh at this. With dignity, she elevated her head in a brisk nod and grabbed the drink and food from him without another word. The soldier, sensing her disturbed countenance, exited the tent's folds quickly, but he still remained from outside, speaking to her in that thundering voice of his.

"I am a physician as well as a soldier, Your Grace. Do you wish to know the cause of your unconsciousness?"

"I was tired. That was all," she replied as she ate the meat he offered her. There were no prying eyes on her, and so she ate without the worries of manners, ate freely with her one fork and tin plate, and opened her mouth, full with food, as she spoke to him. "Perhaps I am also frightened of going out of the castle," she spoke truthfully. Although it was a desire of hers, it was still frightening as it was exciting.

"Perhaps," the soldier replied, "It is true that fear can cause fainting. But I do not think that was it, as you are a very brave soul. My guess is that you were seated on the horse for quite a while and, since you are always in the castle doing sedentary tasks, the sudden exercise of being seated on a horse, and the sudden movement of standing on the ground, caused a great drop of blood pressure."

"Oh? I suppose I am unfit in the physical department. It has been years since my last horse lesson, years since my last archery show. I do think that I shall enter some training in the art of a sword. Father never taught me that…" she trailed off, her heart going weary at the mention of her father. It had only been three years since he had died, yet it still pained her to remember his passing. "This is good food—what is your name, kind man?"

"Ulfur," he replied, "I will leave you be, Your Grace, to enjoy your food alone."

"Thank you, Ulfur, for this delicious food," she chewed slowly and methodically, and a brief question, which she knew was important but could not find out why until now, sprang into her mind, and she sprang forth with it. "What time is it?" she asked suddenly, dropping her fork onto her plate.

"The Hour of the Witch," said he.

"Three in the morning," she said faintly. She watched his silhouette walk back to his post or back to his tent as she calculated the hours within her mind. Eight hours she had slept. A new fear enveloped her. She could not fall back to sleep, however hard she tried, for the nightmares would constantly keep her awake in the night, and if not, the darkness urged her to keep a watchful eye out in case of shadowed beasts with glowing eyes. The fainting spell she had was a blessing in disguise. It was the first time in ages since she had a good rest without the beasts lingering in her sleeping soul.

She huddled beneath her covers and watched as the fire cackled and danced until its light diminished. No one added another fire to its lost blaze. A new hope flourished within her, and she peeked out between the tent's folds and let the cold air seep through her as she glanced about with a cautious eye. All but one man had slipped into the tents for a good night's sleep. The man, who she presumed to be the night's watch, had fallen asleep against the trunk of the tree, the warm winter's hat slightly falling off from his head, the only fur blanket given to him also slipping from his thin shoulders. The man must be dreaming of cold winds and winter storms in the weather his body was exposed to, so she had crept away from her tent, with her own blanket draped around her shoulders, and aligned the hat and pulled up his fur blanket, tucking him in like a mother to a child, careful as to not awaken him.

He slightly stirred as her hand went about moving his apparel, and she stopped briefly, frightened that his eyes would open to the queen harassing his hat and his blanket. With a loud snore, he turned to his side and smiled, slightly smacking his lips in bliss for the food he had earlier.

With that done, she turned to the woods and grinned. It was only a night walk, nothing to be afraid of, she could do it—to face the shadows and walk amongst them. Her father had told her that it would be beneficial, that it would help her understand her fears and conquer them. After all, he had said, fears strengthen if one pretends they do not exist, and when they appear again, the fearful are weaker until they become the weakest version of themselves.

She gulped. The camp would not be too far away if she got lost. It would be short and quick, and she would remember where the camp was since its very destination—a large clearing with a body of water nearby—would be easy to find, and she would mark a tree with a ribbon from her hair if she did get lost. She was not daft to navigate her way back. She could do it. She could do it…

"Zelda?" a very familiar voice spoke from the trees. At first, she thought the voice came from her mind, and that her mind played tricks on her with her relinquished senses. She took a step forward and felt her heart accelerate into oblivion.

"Is that you?"

"Who is it?" she demanded. "Where are you? Come out so I can see you."

A shadow moved from behind a tree. She forced herself forward to meet with the dark shape. Fear consumed her as it came nearer, the features still blocked by the shadows of the forest's leaves, until it festered and she wanted to run and hide and to never dare go back into the forest's night.

"Do you not recognize me?" the shape asked. "Do you not hear the familiarity of my voice? The familiarity of my face?"

He stepped forward, and there, in the moonlight, she felt her heart burst as recognition flashed through her.

"Link?"


	6. Forest Whispers

A/N - If you could listen to music while reading, please listen to Beethoven's Sonata Pathetique 2nd movement. It's optional, you don't have to if you don't want to!

* * *

**~ 6 ~**

**Forest Whispers**

* * *

_It is said that the trees whisper to us of our desires. When darkness befalls you and you do not know _

_what your heart wants, run to the forest, and it will tell you what you are missing.  
_

* * *

Zelda rubbed her eyes furiously, certain that they deceived her. When she reopened them, he stood there, ashen in the pale moonlight that streamed through the dead leaves of the trees. She stumbled forward, believing that she was dreaming or delusional, and she placed a cold hand on his warm cheek to see if he was real, if he were truly there before her in modest clothes, and he, in response, widened his eyes at her touch and her disarray, equally surprised as her in the other's sudden appearance.

Gently, he put his hand on hers and continued to gaze at her with an uncanny calm. She gazed back. He looked different. Taller, broader at the chest, a slight stubble growing on the jaw. All but his eyes changed. They still held the fierce passion he had, the playfulness they could muster, the tenderness she caught when he spoke to people whose lives went through hardship.

She pulled him within her arms and held his head to her chest. For an inexplicable reason, she felt like sobbing onto his messy hair, felt like whispering to him of how glad he was here and unharmed, to tell him all that had happened when letters could not suffice, to ask him what had happened to him, where he went, what adventures he saw. Instead, she remained silent as they clung to each other, the slight breeze wrapping them in a veil.

"Link," she said at last, and broke away from him. She did not care if the sudden embrace was inappropriate. They were alone and he did not perceive her as only a queen, but much more than that, as a mortal who cared and felt emotions like any other person, and for that, a strange understanding passed between them as well as a unique bond which was there before the creation of Hyrule, as if she had known him many lifetimes before this one.

"Zelda," said he, and there his calm composure broke into a full smile, half-parted as if he were about to say more, but he stood quietly and gazed at her with such fondness, she could not help but feel her cheeks tug themselves into a grin.

"What are you doing here?"

"I knew that you would go on an expedition to view the provinces. I hoped that chance would be so kind to let me see a moment with you, and I know now that chance has smiled upon me."

"As it has to me," she grinned. "It has been quite a while, has it not?" she asked, averting his gaze. His eyes were always too handsome to behold, and each time she saw them, she wanted to marvel at their beauty, yet the conflicting feeling of one's admiration forced her to glance away and blush a crimson red.

He spoke with sadness weighing each word. "Two months is hardly a while, yet it feels as if time slipped through our fingers."

"Indeed it has. Time has never been too kind; it always moves and leaves us in the dust," she said. A strong breeze entered the woods. It swam by the trunks of the trees, floated around them, brushed aside their tangled locks, and left as quickly as it had come. Zelda looked up, concern riddled on her face. The thought always lied at the back of her mind and surfaced constantly, until it nagged her and she could do nothing but obey its bidding. Reluctantly, she took a hold of his warm hand and looked eagerly into his eyes, wanting to find some trace of a hidden answer behind them. "Link, tell me now, how many more days shall you be in the woods?" she asked.

He was not taken aback by her innocuous question. Instead, a faint hint of a smile curved on his lips as he spoke softly, "My answer is the same as before: I do not know."

"Is a life of a hermit soothing for you? Do you love it and prefer it above the comfort of a bed, or the warm food and drink of a tavern?"

"I admit. It was not a suitable lifestyle as I had thought."

She waited for more of an answer, but all she heard was silence as he stared into the night's sky.

After a moment, he turned to her and said, "If it pleases you, will you join me for a walk?"

She nodded, knowing that he would tell her his tale, of his revelations and experiences in these woods. He would finally tell her his thoughts, and then she could finally respond with her request she so urgently wanted to ask.

With small steps, they began to delve into the heart of the forest, where the trees covered the sky in wreathed branches. The moonlight still protruded through. On the almost bare branches, scarce dead leaves swayed and fell. The rustle of footfalls and leaves echoed in the empty air.

At last they reached a small clearing, where the moon shone brightly and lighted the dried grass and cluster of leaves on the ground. A large tree stump waited for them in the middle. Link and Zelda sat down on it.

"Two months," Link breathed, "two months I have been in these woods and it feels like it has been far longer than that."

"How is life like in the forest? You never told me in your letters, and I am awfully curious."

Link smirked with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Oh, Zelda, I really did send a letter five days ago. Our hawk friend is still looking for you."

"Would you be so kind to tell me what was in that letter?"

"I would rather you read it yourself. Words on paper are more powerful than words from the mouth."

"You are not so kind at all," she said with a grin.

"You will see that I am kind enough to tell you of what forest life is like. Where shall I begin?"

"How did you ever manage to make that hawk whistle? It is so lovely," she said. She wished she brought it with her into the woods, for she could show him how much she did love it, and that would bring more of a smile to his face—a face that looked so bleak and distant when she caught him in his most vulnerable moments.

"And yours is very . . . ostentatious. I never took you for being ostentatious."

"I did not choose it for myself. Jared did."

"Who is this Jared?"

"A servant of mine," she said, "he probably is one of the best, for he has no taste for gossip, nor is he loudmouthed."

"Silence is golden."

She nodded and quickly turned the conversation around. "And how has the forest's silence been treating you?"

"It is not bad as you made it to be. The birds used to chirp in the summer, the trees used to rustle, but now all I hear is the dead leaves moving in the night and the wind that moves through the shadows," murmured Link. He was so quiet; Zelda had to lean closer to listen to his hushed breaths. "I do not know what I can do when winter comes. For so long, I ate whatever the plants offered me, and occasionally, when the opportunity presented itself, I hunted and fished. When winter is here, there will be no fruits to be offered, the animals will migrate, and the fish will be under the ice."

"You can look for winterberries, try ice fishing, or hunt the animals that do stay in the winter."

"I can, but that does not mean I know."

"I do not know either. I have only hunted during the summer seasons. Father never liked me getting a cold." She smiled fondly at the memory, for he used to bundle her up in furs and fabrics whenever she ventured out to build snowmen.

"In Ordon, Rusl went ice fishing and got as many fish as he could to supply the whole village. His wife, Uli, aged the cheese of the goats and served a feast of pumpkins right before winter's breath arrived to our doors. Pumpkin soup, pumpkin pie, pumpkin cheesecake, pumpkin bread. A lot of things can be made out of pumpkin," he said, smiling. "It is a shame that pumpkins do not grow in the wild. Despite a lifetime of pumpkins, I do miss them."

An idea brightened in her mind like a sun at noon. "Link, you should come with me—Visit the provinces with me. You have been to each, and I have never went out of Castle Town in all my years."

His mouth opened wide in surprise, and with it, her heart fell for she knew he would reject her offer, no matter how hard she pressed. Yet she was determined, and she did not care if he found her an annoyance, for it was important to her and it was important for him.

"I cannot go back—"

"Back to where?"

"Anywhere, Zelda," he gasped, "I just do not know if I can handle seeing anyone. Everyone knows me and everyone wants to know me more, but I do not want to know them because I will not be viewed the same way as I was before . . . that is not the type of life I would want."

"That is the kind of life that I live," said she, "as a monarch, people always watch me and judge, but I do not let them see who I truly am, because I am afraid that they will not like what is beneath the exterior I have built. As a hero, that is the way you will have to live if you ever stop living in the woods."

"The woods . . . I do not like them very much."

She angered at his contradicting statements. He did not like the forest, he did not like civilization. What did he like? "Then what will you choose? To rot in these woods or to return?"

"Rot is hardly an appropriate word, Zelda," said he. "But I suppose it is since in the time of fall, the trees die and life depletes itself. A depressing environment, is it not?"

"Indeed."

He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she turned to face him, his blue eyes amplified in the grey light of dawn. "I will join you."

All at once, she felt happiness surge through her. "For how long? For what? Tell me Link, what are you planning?"

"I am not planning anything." He smiled. "I am just doing what you ask."

"No—no! Do not do what I tell you to do. That makes me the villain!" she cried. She did so desperately want him to join her, but she did not want him to think that he was forced to go.

"I am happily obliging your wishes. You are not a villain at all."

"Are you certain you want to leave?"

"Snow may arrive any time soon, and I fear it will be a huge burden to me. Death may be imminent if I stay here."

"So you have your reasons," she said, "and after the snow melts, will you be at the castle or return to these woods?"

"I may go to a different environment, Zelda. The trees do bore me so."

She laughed, but quickly placed a hand over it to cease its rumbles. "Let us hope you know when the time arrives."

They both stood, and she entwined her arms with his, for it was cold and his warmth created another sort of heat from the bottom of her heart. She looked up at him and smiled. "You _have _grown taller."

"The wonders of meat," he said, and they started to walk briskly in the woods, for the morning's light arrived earlier than they had thought.

She inhaled the crisp air, enjoying its coldness seeping through her chest, and enjoying the way the small clouds emitted from her mouth as she spoke. "Link, do you ever have . . . nightmares?" She shuddered at that.

He was quiet for a moment, and she watched as his face transformed to one that was haunted by night terrors. "Yes, I do."

She left the topic alone, not wanting to intrude further and cause more pain to him. And, all too quickly, they finally arrived at the clearing with the tents and the body of water, which she saw in the daylight, was a small stream trickling northwards.

Link looked up with concern wrinkling his brow. "It appears as if your party has awakened."

"Your Grace!" Ulfur's thundering voice boomed. Through the bushes, he rushed forward and waved his arms frantically. "Your Grace," he gasped, and put his hands on her shoulders, "you are unharmed." Then, remembering that it was improper to lay a hand on the queen, he panicked with eyes wide and a flurry of apologies erupting from his mouth as he wiped his hands on his trousers. With that done, he turned and scrutinized Link from toe to head and back again, and his gaze shifted to their conjoined arms.

Embarrassed, Zelda ripped her arm away from his in a swift movement. "Ulfur," said she with a nod in greeting.

"Queen Zelda," he replied, bowing to her. "Hero of Twilight," he bowed to Link as well.

She watched as Link's face paled, obviously not enjoying the title Ulfur spoke.

"Link is just fine, Ulfur. I am not that much of a hero . . ." He turned to Zelda and kissed her hand in farewell. "I need to retrieve a few items, Queen Zelda. I will return later, perhaps by noon."

They watched as he walked away in hurried steps. Ulfur broke the silence with confusion: "What does he mean he is not a hero?"

She frowned as Link disappeared into the trees. Sadness gnawed from the bottom of her gut, for she knew that he thought of himself lower than what others deemed him to be, knew that he did not know if he could live up to such grand expectations, and knew that he was afraid to even attempt to try. "He is not a hero to himself," she said.

All around her, the chorus of dead leaves rustled in the wind's sigh.


	7. Ordon

.

* * *

**~ 7 ~**

**Ordon**

* * *

_Opportunity only knocks once._

* * *

_Hyrule's royal crown does not belong to you,_ a sinister voice says into the darkness. _Wisdom does not control the people. It is fear and power that does, and with your loving heart and petty guidance, Hyrule will fall beneath you._

Amber eyes glow until they disperse into embers. A menacing laugh erupts from everywhere. Suddenly, the darkness shifts and swims until it transforms into a new scenery of vast rolling hills and dull twilight casting its dreary light onto the dead grass. The sky is like an ocean overhead—infinitely moving with swirling clouds for waves. It would be a beautiful day, but to her, it feels as if something ominous will happen, and whatever it is, she cannot stop it, however hard she tries.

A shining blade sprints forth. She ducks, feeling the edge split a strand of hair, feeling the wind from death's kiss miss the crown of her head. A cry of agony fills the air and unleashes fury and havoc into the skies, where ravens flutter and mock the dying man's curses.

She turns to him and sees the life deplete from his amber's eyes.

No words are spoken as the sword plunges deeper into his chest. To her horror, he still stands upright, although his cries have ceased and his limbs are limp. The luminescent blood still drips into a pool on the dead ground.

There she notices another man clothed in green. He heaves heavy breaths. With a weary groan, he collapses, letting go the sword that pierced the man. It is still inside the dead man's heart.

She rushes to him. He looks up at her shadow and mouths two words.

"What? I do not understand," she tries to tell him, but the words are whisked away into the violent wind. He speaks silently and she watches his mouth form vowels, syllables, words. But she hears nothing.

_Wake up._

* * *

"Wake up," a voice murmured. It was soft and quiet and warmed Zelda's ear. It did not jolt her up right; instead, it coaxed from her slumber and she awakened to find Link's face fretting over her with a subtle frown.

"Link?" she asked, surprised. "Did I—did I fall asleep? I do not recall a thing."

He nodded. "A sleeping spell fell over you once you entered the tent."

She remembered an explanation to Ulfur of her encounter with Link She told of how Link was a newfound friend and that she was forever indebted to him. Whatever he wanted, she would do anything. She also said she would get her hawk whistle Link had made for her. When she went inside the tent and let her arm search for it in the covers, she felt her head grow heavy and her lids to close by themselves. All she remembered was the welcoming of sleep and the horrors that came with it.

"How long did I sleep for?" she croaked.

"Six hours."

Then she gasped, for Link entered her tent without her permission, and that would cause plenty of rumours among her entourage, who would then spread the tales to the castle's employment, and whenever that happened, it seemed as if all of Hyrule knew.

"What are you doing here?" she cried.

"I did what Ulfur told me to do—wake you up."

"I slept soundly."

"You were screaming."

She grew quiet at that. When Ganondorf had screamed as he died, she felt like screaming with him. In a way, her night terror allowed her to do what she could not do as she watched the man die a brutal death.

"I will get you water," he said, sensing her silence. He exited the tent and she went to work. She rolled the furs up. A small _thud _bounced on the floor. There, among the hard ground, the elegantly designed hawk whistle laid. With gentle hands, she picked it up. She drew the gold chain tied to her shirt and attached the hawk whistle to it, and then she placed the makeshift necklace around her neck, surprised at how light it was against her chest.

Link returned with a tankard of water. With quick sips, she drank it in heartbeat and wiped away the escaped drops from her lips.

"I scream in my sleep, too," Link admitted. At that, his eyes widened as she felt herself flinch at his abrupt words.

"Do you ever hear a voice . . . ?"

"Ganondorf's," he said simply, not wanting to finish the sentence. That one name was all it took for her to understand.

"I, too." With quick neat folds, the furs were all tidied. "It is such a pity," she said absently, stroking the soft furs, "he had a lovely voice fit for singing, and yet it sounded so evil and sinister . . ."

"He sought revenge, but vengeance is the one to act distraught retribution."

"I dare to say Ganondorf was once a man who had the same ambitions as any other—the same fears, desires, weaknesses, hopes. Power and vengeance went to his head and to his heart, blackening it like the moon darkens the sun."

A strange silence of mourning surrounded them. With distant murmurs, he intruded upon the quietness with gentle sorrow: "No man deserved to die like that."

"Only ignorance disagrees with you, Link, but if it is you who felt the pain of his death, I will tell you this: you are not alone. I, too, share the suffering."

Water brimmed his lower lashes. He turned around so she would not see the tears and whispered, "I believe all three of us died that day," and exited the tent's folds.

She did not know what he meant by that, but whatever it was, it was a horrible, terrible sign he was not as strong as she had thought. Beneath all the burdens and stress, his mental health looked as if it plummeted—and on that day, she could see through his exterior of liveliness and graciousness, she could see right into his eyes where his soul laid broken and bare and ready for the plucking of ravens.

"Ulfur," she called, eyeing Link by the tree. He did not move nor speak, but stared at the coarse designs of the bark, occasionally placing a gloved hand on its trunk to feel the nature, which, as it seemed, was his only source of comfort. Was she the one to betray him— to bring more discomfort to his life—by bringing him to places he did not want to go?

"Yes, Your Grace?" At once, Ulfur was by her side bowing.

She was surprised at his quick materialization. "Be certain that Link has a fine place to camp for the nights to come. Nearby and hidden, if you can."

Confusion spread across his face. She knew he wanted to question her motives, but he nodded in confirmation and returned to his packing.

Zelda set to work by untying the ropes around the pegs on the ground. One by one, she undug the pegs until Ulfur arrived by her side with a look of horror on his handsome face.

"Queen Zelda! Your hands—" he gasped, "there will be dirt beneath your nails and you might injure yourself and—"

"Quite all right, Ulfur," said she, still digging into the hard soil of the earth. "It is not a problem at all; in fact, I do enjoy repeating tasks. It is soothing in some ways and allows me plenty of time to think while doing something productive. Efficiency is something I am fond of."

"Ah, yes. As queen, I would imagine."

"What is that in your hands?" she asked, noticing the small envelope. Happiness flowed through her all at once. In her mind's eye, she presumed it was the letter Link had been so secretive about. Not liking secrets, she was urgent in the retrieval and reading of such a letter.

"This?" asked Ulfur, looking at his hand with confusion. His eyes alighted in understanding, "Oh, _this," _he said. "A letter from the Royal Advisor of Hyrule."

A bit of disappointment clouded her. "I shall read and respond when there is an appropriate surface to do so," she said as she grabbed the letter and tucked it within her satchel.

"Your Grace, everything is packed. We are ready to leave whenever you are."

"Ride ahead, Ulfur, and find a resting place for Link."

"Understood, Your Grace."

She gazed at Link again. He stood in the same spot with a hand on the tree and a hand on his hip, his head leaning against the wood. She approached him with caution, not wanting to startle him. With gentleness, she touched his forearm to gain his attention. He turned to her, his eyes bloodshot. From crying? From sleepless nights? She suspected both.

"Will you be heading to Ordon?"

Why did he ask such a thing? It was obvious and futile, but in his voice there was a hint of hope that perhaps she could skip Ordon and visit another town instead. Sadly, she shook her head.

"Yes, to Ordon we will go."

Heaviness weighed his heart as he looked away, troubled. "I had a childhood sweetheart there," he mentioned.

She startled at his unwarned monologue. It pained her to hear such words of agony in his voice. It sounded ponderous and whining, yet it was aware that it was sulky and did not care if it were a child's squall. "You do not have to come," said she, knowing that he did not want to see the people he grew up with. What he once was, he was no longer more. "But Link—," she started, unsure if she were in a place to give advice. But she bit her cheek and thought to herself, _opportunity only knocks once. S_o she exhaled a sigh, shut her eyes because she did not want to see any more pain in his face, and she did not want him to see the pain in her eyes. What she was about to say came from her own experience with her deceased parents. "You must see them one day. Or you will regret it."

Seconds passed and she opened her eyes to see Link nod. Whatever was there before had gone and was replaced with a blank stare. She knew that stare. It was the stare of someone trapped in their own torturous mind.

She took hold of his hand and gave a small squeeze.

"Ulfur has rode ahead to set up your camp at the outskirts of town. I will visit you, Link, and we shall move again at a later time."

"Your kindness never surprises me; it is truly from your heart."

She blushed. "There will be food and drink for you dropped off by one of my guards. Ulfur has also brought an extra sword and bow with arrows for protection."

"How long will the stay be?" he asked. He tore his hand from the tree and placed it above her hand. "Who knows? I might drop by and visit if I have the bravery to do so."

"My dear Link, courage has never been afraid of you."

* * *

Ulfur's silhouette rode up to them in the orange glow of dusk. They all halted as he took his place beside the queen. "I found a spring right outside of the village," he said. She nodded in reply as he fell behind her and merged into the rest of the group.

"Link?"

At once, he separated from the men and rode out to her. "Yes?"

"Across this bridge is a spring. Ulfur has set a temporary shelter. Is that fine with you?"

"Yes," he immediately responded, but she found that there was a glint of hesitation written in his eyes. "Is that all?"

She nodded and together they rode side by side. The setting sun peeked out from behind a mountain to her left and she closed her eyes, a small curve of a smile making its way on her lips, and enjoyed its warmth seeping through her skin until it felt as if the warmth came from within. She turned to Link, about to ask something, but ceased her words, for he had a peculiar look on his face—one would say that it was an expression of awe and joy at once, but she could not tell what exactly it was as he turned quickly, looking straight ahead as if he had never stared directly at her. She smiled.

"I never knew such a beautiful sight existed on this bridge had I not looked up from my reins."

"This bridge I have seen aplenty."

"How so?"

"Rusl and I took walks in the forest to gather firewood," he said with a small smile, "he also brought me to visit Faron Spring occasionally."

Whoever Rusl was, he was revered with fondness from Link like a proud son to an accomplished father.

The boards beneath them creaked as the bridge swayed in the soft winds. She stifled a gasp, frightened that she and the horse would fall off and plummet into the darkness below.

With reassurance, Link spoke: "Relax. It has supported a very plump moblin on a very large boar."

She laughed at that. "The bridge is rickety and its form is weak. If I had fifty men instead of twenty, the ropes holding this up will snap."

"Is your first project re-establishing the rickety bridge of Ordon?"

"Yes," she replied, "I am surprised it did not break during the Twilight Invasion."

"It is lucky that it never did, for I would have not met you."

A large gate made of timber, vines and wreaths of leaves and flowers blocked their path. Link hopped off his horse and called to the men behind them, saying that he would open the gate for them. As Link lagged behind, Ulfur caught up to Zelda with a question on the tip of his tongue.

"Whatever it is you wish to speak, it would be wise to say it now," said she.

Ulfur inhaled a deep breath as he clutched harder onto his reins. "If you do not mind me asking, Your Grace, but why is the Hero of Twilight with us?"

"He agreed with me to serve as a provincial ambassador of sorts."

He nodded, but a twitch of an eyebrow told her he still did not comprehend by what she meant. "Why is he a provincial ambassador? He has a talent for the sword, and yet he is not part of your royal guard."

"He is not ready for any fighting. He wishes for a life of peace."

"There is peace in Hyrule. What more can he ask?"

Another wooded gate appeared to her right. She peeked through the entwined branches and saw the lonesome tent and fire pit Ulfur had set up. Beyond that was the most beautiful sight she had ever laid her eyes upon—even more beautiful than the low sun over the mountain. A wall of water streamed slowly into a shallow pool of purest blues. Higher above the wall was a cliff where more ribbons of water fell with elegance into another pool that was elevated. Ancient stones, covered in moss and circular designs, loomed near like giants soaking in a bath.

"Ordona," she murmured, remembering that this was the light spirit's sacred place.

The gates opened. She was so caught in her trance; she did not notice Link enter with his horse in hand.

"I will see you later?" he asked, and she nodded, still enthralled by the scenery. Though the trees offered no leaves and there were no sounds except for the small breeze, the sight was still beautiful in all its silence and held an air of reflection and sorrow.

"Link," she started, turning her horse around. "The spring and you are as one."

X

Ordon Village was not as she had expected it to be; in truth, she imagined it as a rustic place with raw huts sore to the eye sprawled aimlessly. To her surprise, it was an organized little village with a certain charm small cottages could only have. It was appealing to look at it and interesting. Everywhere, nature seemed to coincide with the manmade structures.

The people of Ordon waited for them eagerly. They dressed modestly in goat's cloth with simple embroidered details. Zelda was pleased she decided not to wear anything that would attract strange stares—she wore the same clothes as she had the night before, the raw leather riding clothes. To dress queenly would only distance her away from them. It would display a broad variety of their differences—class, authority, riches—and would only force them to view her as a queen and thus obey her every command. They would never speak their mind before her, and that was what she wanted, for she was not a mind reader and could only read actions, words and movements.

Their eyes lighted up as her party rode in. Her men stopped and dismounted their rides and she too stepped down from her mount. The people, all lined in a row, bowed to her. She elevated her chin in greeting.

"Welcome, Your Grace, to our humble village of Ordon," a man with a balding head and a walrus moustache spoke. A blonde woman behind him handed her a wooden shield with carvings painted in dark brown. Ulfur slipped beside Zelda and took the crest graciously.

"I am Mayor Bo," he bowed again, and as he rose up, she saw a very similar smile.

At this, she cracked open a grin and proclaimed, "You were at my coronation."

"Ah, yes," said he, "how is the Ordonian sword?"

"Displayed."

"Your Grace," the blonde woman spoke. She curtsied.

"This is my daughter, Ilia," Mayor Bo said, and at that, Zelda felt a strange pang in her gut. There were no other women around Link's age, so she took a gander at Ilia with a look of amusement, for she had unlocked a little piece of Link's hidden past in which Ilia could be no other than his childhood sweetheart.

"Hello, Ilia," Zelda nodded, and she attempted to hide the smug look on her face, but she felt her cheeks tug themselves into a ghost of a smile. Link had fallen for a pretty girl with emerald green eyes and ashen blonde hair, soft pink lips and a full smile of pearls—she wondered why he had left his life behind when Ilia was here for him with opened arms.

And then she saw it. A man in Castle Town clothing of light wool dyed in warm reds wrapped his arm around Ilia's shoulders— none too shyly—and grinned in approval of Zelda's appearance.

"Queen Zelda," he tilted his head slightly, "I am Roren, head builder of the Builder's Guild in Castle Town."

"Yes," said she, "I wondered how you are doing with Ordon?"

"Ordon Village has been fine when we first started. Minimal damages. There were holes burrowed deep everywhere, especially in the pumpkin patches, and some houses also had holes in the walls or doors torn right off. We have fixed such a minor problems and will help the other team in Kakariko Village next."

"Join us, Your Grace, for a grand feast in your gracious service!" bellowed Mayor Bo.

"It is fine—I only wished to see how your village fared in the war."

"Miraculously," Mayor Bo added quickly. "Come, now! Do not be shy, Your Grace, for we have plenty of food from the harvest to celebrate with and it is all we can do to thank you. When dawn arrives, you may take your leave. We would hate it for you to travel in the dark, so please, eat and sleep in our little village of Ordon."

She hesitated, looking at all the people of Ordon. It touched her heart deeply. They had all gathered for her arrival when they could be harvesting, fishing or creating furniture for the winter to come and repair the wrecked damage. But there they were, most beaming with joy to see the queen who had gotten out of her castle to visit them—the people who lived far south and thus out of reach to ever see the queen. Of course they thought it was a hassle for her to leave, and so they had felt a small pin of guilt by their sides, and the only way to get rid of it was to honour her appearance. At the realization of this, Zelda felt a similar guilt, too. Did they wish for her to truly stay for a night?

"If you insist," she said at last.

At her confirmation, the people raised their hands and applauded her.

"Most excellent, Your Grace!" Mayor Bo boomed, and then he turned to the people—all fourteen Ordonians, five builders and the queen's twenty men. "Everyone, to my place."

"Father!" Ilia gasped, and then, sensing all eyes on her, she turned to him and hissed with a furious whisper: "Our place is far too small to hold many people."

With complete loudness, Mayor Bo waved her off and smiled, "Nonsense, child! We will set up chairs and tables in all rooms."

The setting of the tables were swift as her men and the builders helped out, including herself, which everyone but the Ilia and Mayor Bo grew horrified at—especially Ulfur, who would, to her annoyance, steal away a plate she attempted to hold and place it on the table for her, or he would take a chair she was about to grab and push it into the table.

At last, everyone settled down as the Ordonians went into Mayor Bo's kitchen with supplies from their own homes. A woman with a face like a pan of milk winked at her and said, "I hope you like pumpkin, m'dear."

From the tales of pumpkin eating from Link, Zelda hoped she did too.

When the waft of pumpkins and spices filled the air, Ilia came out of the kitchen and slid in a seat next to Zelda's with a small muffin in hand.

"Pumpkin muffin, Queen Zelda?"

"No thanks." She waved her hand, not wanting to be rude by eating before everyone else.

Ilia put the muffin on the table and crossed her arms. "Not everyone is in the village, Your Grace," said she, and Zelda did not know what to make of her sudden words. At last, a clarifying whisper spoke to her. "Did you know? The Hero of Twilight originated here in this small place where hardly anyone comes across. And now all of Hyrule knows him. Is that not remarkable?"

"I have studied heroes in my lifetime," answered Zelda, "and the ones I have read grew in humble upbringings, capturing fame with their modest roots, so they won the hearts of all the people—rich and poor, young and old, Goron and Zora, human and Hylian. The people love legends where a man comes from nothing and grows into something."

"It may be nice if you never seen him at the start," Ilia mumbled, and it was not meant for Zelda's ears, yet she heard her clearly and felt a sudden sadness for this girl—the girl Link had grew with as friends and perhaps more than friends. Any hope for a future with him had vanished right before her eyes as he left. He feared the place they were born in, and even feared its occupants— the friends he had lived with for most of his years.

Spite glowed in Ilia's eyes as she absently plucked the muffin's top and placed its warmth inside her mouth. "Link was always loved, but now even more people love him."

"Are you not happy for him?"

Ilia put the muffin down, aware of her venomous words. "I am, truly. But I cannot understand why he ran off into the world when he had us here—his family."

Ilia looked as if she were lost in the world without him, and so a sympathetic hand went out to her as Zelda gently squeezed her shoulder in reassurance. Perhaps some certain news would cheer the girl up. "And do you know where he went?" She feigned a calm exterior to cease suspicions. In truth, she was excited to see the girl's face glisten with joy when she told her the answer.

"I rdo," she said, and then, as if remembering something, her eyes widened and she leaned forward to tell something secretive, "he told me he wanted to be by himself in the woods. What for? Ordon _is _in the woods."

"To delve deeper into the forest," Zelda said, "and to delve into the deepest depths of his troubled mind."

Ilia said nothing at Zelda's words and let her eyes flicker upon the large shadow covering both women. Ilia's face brightened into a smile as Roren's meaty hand landed on her shoulder. He sat next to her and leaned an elbow on the table to talk to Zelda.

"Queen Zelda," he started, and his hand trailed to Ilia's. He took hold of it and gently rubbed his thumb beneath her palm. "Ilia and I are courting."

Zelda raised a brow at that. Was Ilia over her past relationship with Link? Zelda doubted Link was over Ilia.

"The spring festival of love," Roren cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable with the situation. "We were just wondering—"

_"You _are_,"_ Ilia corrected, barely audible. She stared intently onto the table, admiring the crevices and half eaten muffin on top of it, as Roren nodded and gestured to her comment.

"Yes, _I _am wondering if the queen would venture out into Castle Town when the spring festival begins. To grant any couples present with your blessings—if it please you, Your Grace," he added hastily.

"Firstly, how old are the both of you?"

"I will be twenty next summer, Your Grace," Ilia responded.

"As will I," Roren added, "we share the same birthday. It is quite the story of how we met—my builders threw me a surprised party two months ago, and they accidentally scared the pants out of Ilia!"

"How sweet," said Zelda as she watched the two wrap themselves into a bubble of close intimacy. Within the clutches of her heart, she was envious of what they had and what she could never attain. "I do not know what will come by then, but if I do have the time, then yes, I shall be there and bless the both of you."

Ilia blushed crimson. "Thank you, Your Grace."

Just then, Mayor Bo and others exited the kitchen, a large cloud of delicious sweet smells escaping from the opened door as all, simultaneously, placed the exposed wooden bowls and plates in front of the seated guests. A wave of awes flowed throughout the room, admiring such beautiful artistic displays of food, and others awed for the fantastic smells that seeped out of the food, into the air, and into the noses of hungered soldiers.

A chorus of thanks echoed throughout the room as everyone dug into their meal, the men obviously enjoying it more than the broiled fish they had yesterday.

Zelda ate in silence, ignoring the stares of the villagers and the eye of the mayor. He would clear his throat, aimed at her direction, to desperately gain her attention. After seeing the beginnings of true love blossoming before her, Zelda did not have the sense but to stuff her mouth full of food to prevent her from speaking to anyone. For the remainder of the meal, Ilia and Roren spoke sweet nothings in each other's ears like those of a young couple foolishly in love. Zelda sat with her plate and ate pumpkin stew with baked carrots, pumpkin pie with zest of lemon, and pumpkin soup sprinkled with the salt from Zora's Domain. It surprised her when she still craved for more pumpkin substances after her meal.

As Roren got up to speak to one of the soldiers across the room, Zelda nudged Ilia on the shoulder.

"Link did go into the forest," she said, eyeing the girl carefully to see if her plain expression would change to something—anything—that would reveal her true feelings.

"Yes, I know. I was the one who told you that, remember?" she said heartily with a small laugh that was false in every sound.

"He is out of it now," Zelda replied.

Ilia's face did change—from shock, to happiness, to sorrow and, at long last, to restrained silence. "And how do you know this?"

With horror, Zelda realized she came off as cruel with her brief, emotionless response. Her hands were cold as she entwined her fingers and placed them onto her lap.

"You are a close friend of his, yes?"

"Yes," Ilia said defensively.

"Do not tell anyone—," she started. Deep within her, she felt the guilt crawl its way up her body until she was way over her head. She leaned towards Ilia to share more secrets, which Link did not want anyone to know, probably not even his childhood best friend. The girl looked at her, each line on her pretty face drawn out in anxiety. Zelda's mouth parted as she thought of an excuse—she was already in too deep to stop herself from revealing Link's whereabouts. And so, the words emitted from her before she could stop herself.

"He has returned."

A brief smile flashed before it was replaced with concern. Ilia grabbed Zelda by her shoulders. "Let us see get some fresh air," she said as she tugged Zelda out of the room, not caring if she was Hyrule's queen or her best friend.

Beneath the descending darkness, Ilia finally spat out words filled with joy and anger. "I have waited for him to return to me. I do miss him, really, I do!" And then, with vehemence, she stomped on the ground and placed her hands on her hips, making such a wild face that Zelda was scared as Ilia kicked the dirt floor with her bare feet. "That idiot! What a dimwit, running into the woods! So unsafe! What if the Skull Kid got him? Huh? Then what?"

Zelda remained silent as Ilia's moods switched rapidly. She guessed it had something to do with the anxious and excitement of seeing him for the first time in forever.

"He used to ride Epona. Oh, I do miss both so much. I miss looking after their wounds from reckless riding. He always rode and jumped over fences Fado placed in the ranch. It was a never ending cycle of me mending and him breaking bones." Ilia sighed. "So, where exactly is he?"

She panicked. "Oh, Ilia!" she cried and grabbed the girl's hands. "He is recovering from the forest's brutality. I do not think he is rested to see anyone . . . "

Ilia returned her gaze with a glare that could cut through glass. "I just want to see him. I do not have to talk to him if he is reluctant to see me. Is he nearby? Or is he somewhere else? Because I can and will leave Ordon Village."

Zelda was surprised at Ilia's understanding. "So you know the reason he keeps his distance from Ordon?"

"Yes. He told me he could no longer see the smiling faces of us, so he left not wanting to disappoint. I think he feared the respect he gained from all, but what he did not know is that we are from the same Ordonian roots, in which we view all as equals."

"I cannot deny the plea of a friend to see her childhood sweetheart—"

Ilia interrupted with a loud hush. "What Link and I had was only a crush among the young. Surely you understand how that feels. After all, you were once young, and the feelings of the young cannot be caged like an animal. It roams free."

"So it was a passing infatuation?"

Ilia nodded.

"Right," said Zelda. "I did have a brief swoon for a prince before, but the flame that was once there has been extinguished by my own iron will. But never mind me; I will bring you to Link."

"I promise to blend with the shadows."

"Be certain that you do, for I do not know how Link will react."

In the dead of night, Ilia and Zelda walked away from the orange glow of candlelight, pass the small cottages, and into a another area where a lonesome house elevated by a tree stood, abandoned and breaking.

Ilia pointed at the sad-looking house with its sloping roof, broken ladder, and sagging branches. "That was Link's house," said she.

Before walking into the woods, Zelda stole one last glance at the house. Injustice filled her every being. She thought it unfair the builders did nothing for it. Unbeknownst to them, it existed within the tree's shadows.


	8. The Unexpected

**~ 8 ~**

**The Unexpected**

* * *

_A friend can see the weaknesses you miss and the strengths you underestimate._

* * *

"Link?" she called as she entered the spring. Her eyes scanned over the remains of the fire and the lone tent. She heard nothing but the water's melodious voice responding back. "Link?" she tried again.

"Over here," a dark shape said. Zelda's eyes landed on Link who sat on the soft sands with a hawk grass in hand. "Look what I found," said he as his fingers toyed with the long reed and gently brushed the grass's hawk-like head.

"Those grow everywhere," Zelda said, taking a seat by him. She looked behind her to see Ilia's body tucked between a hollow tree fallen on the forest floor. With a wave of her hand, Ilia encouraged Zelda to continue talking to him, for everyone knew Link did not imitate conversation but rather listened politely and then responded. "I am surprised they have not died with the rest of the flowers."

"They are a winter grass. When everything is dead, they remain in the snows among the bare branches. It is astonishing they can survive such harsh winters."

"Here," Zelda murmured as she took the grass out of his hands. "You do not need this. Whatever happened to the one I gifted you?"

"It is so delicate, it is impractical. If I were to carry it in Castle Town, certainly a thief will rob me. Likewise, the bandits in the woods would put their filthy hands on such an exquisite piece."

"Where is it?" she insisted. Had he thrown it out? If he had, it felt as if her heart was hurled into the woods as well.

"No," Link said, "I did not throw it out, if that is what you are thinking." A soft smile formed on his lips as she jolted back at his accurate observation.

"How did you know I thought such a thing?"

"Your worried expression told me so," he withdrew something from his hind pocket and produced the small hawk whistle within the palm of his hand. "Too beautiful for corrupt eyes."

Zelda removed the whistle from beneath her shirt. "As yours is," she said.

"I never tried the sound myself. May I hear?"

"As one?"

Link nodded. Together, they placed the whistles to their lips and exhaled deep breaths into the opening. What was once air transformed into a beautiful melodious sound that travelled high into the star-lit sky, where, upon gazing up, a large bird flapped its wings and hovered slightly above eye level. It looked down upon the two, trying to decipher if it were Link or Zelda. At last, the hawk landed gracefully onto Link's outstretched forearm. Within its talons was a dirtied letter.

"What is this?" she asked.

"My letter," said he.

Zelda took it and, not wanting to read it aloud and reply to Link in front of Ilia, decided to read it later along with Auru's letter.

"I will write to you." She smiled shyly, loving their odd little exchange. Even if he were here physically, she still enjoyed writing to him instead of speaking. She could say more into written words than spoken ones.

"As you wish," he nodded. "Before you return to Ordon, please—if you could—bring back a bucket of oats for the horse?"

"I will."

"What is the horses' name?"

"Cookies," Zelda said, almost losing her calm composure into a fit of laughter, for the horse's name came from her fourteen year self when she was still immature and a mischievous one. The horse loved cookies very much when it was a foal, so she had brought platefuls of cookies over the years much to the stablehand's dismay.

"Where is Epona?" the voice came from neither of them.

Zelda watched as Link's face froze in fear, watched as his body stiffened and his eyes widened, watched as his expression changed from one to fear to shock and back again.

"Link?" Ilia came out of the shadows, her hair a mess with twigs and leaves in her tangled locks. "Where is she?"

Guilt heightened to her heart as she averted her gaze, certain Link cast an accusing look to her direction.

"Ilia—" Link gasped, breathless. "Ilia—" he tried again, but no words followed.

All at once, Ilia was in his face with feral eyes and wild gestures. _"Where is she?" _she demanded, and Link gulped and examined the forest floor, afraid of his expression betraying him.

Zelda took a step back, not wanting to be involved in a fight clearly meant for two, and she did not want to be the mediator since she could never side with just one view. So she watched Ilia bicker as Link sat listening. The small guilt which wrapped around her chest grew heavier, for it was she who had brought Ilia here and it was also her who spoke of a different horse.

What had been a meager question of a horse's whereabouts took an ugly turn. Ilia spat in a frenzy, yelling at him for his inconsiderate actions of escaping into the forest when the village needed him because they also went through terrible experiences during the Twilight Invasion. She never hit at him, though it looked as if she did as Link flinched every time hostile words flew from her mouth. She spoke horrible verbal things which were bottled up inside of her, and, upon seeing him, burst forth like shattered glass and acid.

When Link and Ilia had at last come to a standstill, they separated with weariness weighing them down. Without another word, Ilia left with long, angry strides as her arms swung violently forth to the rhythm of her footfalls. It was not a happy reunion for the two friends as Ilia had shouted and lectured Link for Epona, and Link remained silent as he took each insult as stones to the head. Every time his mouth parted to speak, Ilia's voice would replace his as she further yelled at him for such recklessness.

Zelda went to him with caution because she did not know if he needed a comforting shoulder or her presence beside him after such a stressful dispute. After lingering for so long, she decided to sit by the extinguished fire with him.

"Where is your horse?"

"I left her at Castle Town's stables."

Her hands stroked through her loose hair in frustration. If Ilia allowed Link to speak, the vicious words would never have spewed. When she had told Ilia of Link's arrival, she expected it to be joyous and innocuous. "Why did you not say?"

Link gulped and something glinted in his eyes—resentment? "I have exceptional manners in the art of conversation," he joked, though it came out flat and wavering, so the lightheartedness of the comment vanished.

She patted his arm in reassurance. It was rather awkward since she had no idea how to comfort a man who witnessed his friend explode in anger. There was nothing to say to him that would repair any broken emotions brewing within.

"I will see you on the morrow," she said after moments of silence.

Before she could leave, something tugged at her arm's sleeve. She turned to see Link's anxious face, and when her eyes landed on his, his worried gaze smiled up at her.

"Write to me."

She smiled mischievously because she had already planned to do that. "Of course," said she. "Would that not be rude of me if I declined? You are not the only one in a master of manners."

She left him there as her legs took graceful strides, practically dancing, and her full and silly grin widened as another thought occurred to her: Link had the same idea as she to continue their unnecessary letters.

As she passed the wooded gates, Ulfur entered with a package and a bucket of oats in his hands.

"You are in awfully high spirits, Your Grace," he commented, slightly amazed.

Zelda stopped her frolicking at once. "It is the stars. They shine brightly," said she.

Before he could request to escort her back to Ordon, Zelda walked at a very fast pace and exited the forested area. When Ulfur had finished his job as butler to Link, Zelda was nowhere to be seen. Being a superstitious man, he thought that he saw the ghost of her mother that night.

* * *

Once she returned, Mayor Bo bowed and insisted her to stay at his house for the night, although she had attempted to decline and accept a lovely family's request to stay with them.

"It is not much of a hassle, Your Grace," said he, and she was led to the largest house in the village.

Ilia was there, sitting on the steps with her elbows on her lap gazing high into the sky, a slight forlornness lingering around her. When Zelda stepped up and entered the door, the girl's eyes did not wink as the draft brushed against the ground.

"Roren, Ulfur and you are our guests for tonight," Mayor Bo said. "All the other men are tucked safely with the other houses. Come now—let me show you a grand tour of the place without all those pesky chairs and tables lying around."

He pushed her around into the main room of the house—a kitchen, study, dining and living room all in one. Directly in front of the entrance was a long tunnel.

"Where does that tunnel lead?" she asked.

"A wrestling room."

It was a surprising answer since Zelda would have never guessed Mayor Bo had a hobby of wrestling. But, upon closer inspection, he was a large man with strong muscles coiling along his arms and legs.

"Ilia, Roren and I sleep in there for now. Ulfur has my room—over here to the right—and you can have Ilia's," he smiled grandly. "Her room is far larger than mine."

At this, Zelda's eyes widened, for she did not want to be of an inconvenience to Ilia who had a horrible falling out with Link.

"How gracious of you," she started, "but I would prefer your room as it has a view of the trees."

Mayor Bo immediately nodded. "Of course, Your Grace," he said and then turned to the left, gesturing to a door, "Over here is a bathing room—only a bathtub, fireplace and chamber pot. And that, Your Grace, is the conclusion of the tour. It may be small, but it is cozy."

Zelda was so accustomed to large rooms dedicated to one function. She began to gawk in awe at how everything had a little corner in the main room. To her bottom left was the study, containing a desk, a chair and one large bookcase behind them. Opposite of it was a small kitchen which held a counter and cupboard and dried herbs hanging from hooks and from the ceilings. The rest of the room had newly made furniture in front of the small fireplace—a single couch and a long dining table with five chairs.

"Shall you have a bath before bed, Your Grace?" Mayor Bo brought her out of her stupor.

Since she had been travelling for two days and never got a chance to change, she inclined her head in agreement. "How thoughtful," she said as she entered the doors. The tub already emitted a large mass of steam which hovered in ghostly splendor around the room.

She tested the waters with a finger, and quickly withdrew it. The waters were freshly boiled and too hot to bathe in. A knock came at the door.

"Who is it?"

A voice, silent and dark as night, responded with a lament. "I have brought you a change of clothes and a cloth for drying."

At once, Zelda opened the door to see a very miserable-looking Ilia, her nose and eyes red but dry, for she had attempted not to cry although her very soul commanded it. Zelda knew the source of the problem. _Link, you passive fool, _she thought.

"Thank you," Zelda said, ignoring the way Ilia wiped the tears forming with the back of her hand. Ilia left before Zelda could say anything else besides formalities. Whatever Ilia was going through, she kept it within herself and did not want anyone—not even her father—to discover. As frightening as it may sound, Ilia would have to face Link alone again to confront whatever it was blocking them from having any happiness exude from one to the other.

As Zelda soaked in the warm bath, she began to think. Were all the villagers like Ilia, in which everyone had a strong bond with Link? Certainly they did, for it was what small communities were like where everyone was friends. So, she concluded, it would not hurt them to reunite. She knew Link had to come to Ordon to fix any broken souls and shattered dreams he had left behind, and she did not care if he refused as it was the only solution. After all, she did come to Ordon to mend its abandoned wounds.

* * *

Zelda's first task at dawn was to write her delayed letters. After she dressed in Ordonian clothing, she went into the main room, and to her surprise, Mayor Bo was already up and about, kneading soft dough with his tough knuckles.

"Good morning, Your Grace," said he.

"Good morning," she mumbled, and slipped into the large chair by the small desk. Someone considerate and kind had filled the ink well and displayed a large variety of hawk quills.

Being practical, she opened Auru's creamy white envelope with the seal of Hyrule's loftwing stamped between its lips.

.

_Your Grace,_

_ All is well in Hyrule's capital, so no need to fret over your beloved town's wellbeing. No, I do not write to you as a news bearer since it has only been a week in which you have left our fair town, but I do write as one who obeys your command. As well, I have sent another set of men bearing proper equipment for temporary stays as you travel long days and nights. They should join you soon. Forgive me for the delayed warning—winter is cold, and in your excitement, you forgot about the present and focused on the future only. So do not take it too hard on yourself, Your Grace, as many do at such a tender age. _

_ Take care,_

_ Royal Advisor of Hyrule, Auru Gaebora_

_._

Zelda decided to write to him later once she had more of an impact on Ordon. So far, she had only dined with the Ordonians and had yet to discuss Mayor Bo's visions or Roren's renovations.

As she took out Link's letter from her pocket, Mayor Bo plopped down a tankard which sloshed its contents on the desk.

"Oops—I am so sorry, Your Grace!" he cried, and quickly went to fetch a cloth. With deft hands, he wiped away the spilled milk and, fortunately, not a splash went on her letters.

Zelda picked the tankard up and took a small sip. Goat's milk was bitter and very strong, yet the flavour had grown on her tongue and she soon became fond of it. "This is delicious, Mayor Bo. Thank you," she said, placing the tankard down. "Forgive me, but we did not yet speak to each other about Ordon Village's fate at dinner last night. Perhaps we shall do it over breakfast?"

"How about now? I am here, making breakfast, and you are there, writing letters. Let us make haste," he said with a smile.

With reluctance, she gently placed Link's letter at the far edge of the table, fearing Mayor Bo would make another mess of things.

"If you insist," she said. She straightened the heavy wool skirt Ilia had given to her and folded her hands on her lap. She was all ears now, waiting for Mayor Bo to begin.

"As you may know, Ordon Village is a farming community. It is very small with few people, but I thought we can get help from Castle Town and extend the village's boundaries to gain more farm lands."

"To increase the maximum efficiency of farming?" Zelda asked.

"Precisely," he answered, "there has not been much growth for the past centuries in population, which is not very good considering the massive increase in Castle Town."

"That is because immigrants from other kingdoms have sailed there in the past years," she said, "but I can send some people your way to help with the farming, the raising of livestock and increasing the overall population. I am certain you can sustain yourselves. There is plenty of land to increase, but ensure it does not go too much out of hand, for overpopulation can lead to poverty and the leeching of natural resources to conflicts with the monarchy. Of course, this is years planning ahead of time. Just be cautious is all I am warning you about."

"No, Your Grace, none of that will happen."

"Hyrule is a beautiful land, Mayor Bo. It would be a shame to reap her of her resources when she already gives us her all."

"Yes, of course," he nodded.

"Is that your only concern?"

"I have two more, actually," he replied. "The first of which is the old rickety bridge of Ordon. I never liked that bridge; it always moves and sways with the wind and is way too large to be a simple suspension bridge."

"I agree with you, Mayor Bo. I had plans on converting it to a suspension bridge made of melded metal. The gap is small and will not cost as much and it surely will endure many years."

"I will tell Roren that. He was going to do it, but he had yet to ask permission from you or your advisor."

"Anything else?"

Mayor Bo grew quiet and his eyes, which were normally sleepy, opened briefly as his whole body flinched at the sudden thought.

"If you may, Your Grace—I know this is out of the question, but . . ."

"Whatever it is, please do not refrain yourself." She spoke calmly and encouraged him to tell her, assuring she would listen to him with careful ears.

At last, he spoke in a long strand of words which flew fearlessly from his mouth. "I would appreciate it if you gathered an expert search party for a man in the village. He has gone missing for two months and no one knows where he is exactly. It would be very wise of you, Your Grace, for he is none other than the legendary Hero of Twilight. You do wish to honour him, do you not?"

"I have not taken the chance to grant him his knighthood," she replied, "but yes, Fado had told me of Link's disappearance quite some time ago. You should not fear, Mayor Bo, for he is safe and chose to follow his own path."

"Very well," was all he said as he went back to baking, the sweet smell of yeast dispersing throughout the small room.

Sensing that the conversation was over, Zelda went back to her work and picked up Link's dirtied letter with tender care. It was soggy as it had not dried overnight, and she could only hope the wetness did not soak through and disordered the written words. If it had, she could only hope Link remembered what he wrote.

"Your Grace!" Roren's voice boomed. Startled, she immediately dropped the letter in her hands and felt her shoulders freeze. "Good morning," said he, and he scraped a chair across the room and sat down next to her.

"Good morning," she replied, pushing away Link's letter once again. "Do you wish to speak of your plans in Ordon?"

"Well, once we are blessed by Your Grace, Ilia and I plan to marry. Where we will stay—Ordon or Castle Town—is still undecided."

"That is very good and all, but I meant your business plans."

"Oh!" he laughed. "My business plans, eh? You see, I have already repaired the broken homes of the people. There is still the ranch to look at and the abandoned house by the woods, but there is also the simple bridge of Ordon. If it were stronger, it could hold trading caravans and influence more people to trade with Ordon, which in turn will increase the population size—that is Mayor Bo's concern, you know?"

"Yes, he informed me very well. Is that all you plan to do?"

Roren leaned closer to Zelda and eyed Mayor Bo cautiously, for, despite the sleepless look, he was very much awake with both ears turned their way, although he had his back turned as he went about unnecessarily adding almonds and sweet honey to the freshly baked bread.

"The villagers are restless, Your Grace," he whispered into her ear, the hushed breaths warm and moist and strangely reminded her of Link's sweet murmur. Zelda shuddered.

"How so?" she whispered back.

"Ilia, although she looks and acts happy, is miserable because she does not know where her childhood friend is. Rusl and Uli are worried sick about this childhood friend. Apparently they are like parents to him, and their constant worrying ails them, which is never good for their two young children, Colin and Elina."

"Is there anyone else?"

"I think that," he started, and he hesitated thereafter because he did not know what to say next or perhaps it was because he took careful thought about each villager and their bond to Link. Then, with understanding written on his face, he leaned forth was his elbow on the table dangerously close to Link's letter. Zelda grabbed it as he spoke. "The children miss him dearly and throw temper tantrums, which upsets their parents very much who hardly get any sleep or get any of their work done in the village. And then there is Fado, a man who was like an older brother to Link. He is useless without him as he is a large, clumsy oaf who is terrible at his job. I do not know if he misses him emotionally or if Fado only needs his assistance. Either way, the goat business here is not as great as it was before, and that is our source of food and income as Fado constantly trades with Castle Town. Goats go missing and wolves hunt them. Though it may appear small to you, Your Grace, it is a very large issue for the Ordonians. How are they to survive the winter with only a handful of goats for cloth, food and profit?"

"I see," she said. "I am aware that every one of the Ordonians miss Link terribly and are suffering consequences from him. Perhaps some therapeutic measures must be taken into account? I shall hire some psychologists to come here and help them through." Of course, everything she said was a possibility. Instead of doing just that, she had a better idea in her mind, and idea that would make all happy and assure them Link was indeed alive and safe.

"They will be gracious, kind queen."

Zelda smiled at him. "Thank you, Roren. At lunch, shall we look at the abandoned house? I feel that it should be repaired."

"No one lives there so it will be our last project," he replied. "I'd prefer if we were to see the bridge first as it is the biggest one here. When Ordon is complete, I will move onto Kakariko Village with you."

"And when do you suppose that will be?"

"Several months, at most."

"I will be gone by then," she said. She did not want to stay in the villages for a long time. These visits were to be a maximum of two weeks because she had to be return to the castle and resume her life there at the capital of the kingdom, for that was where most information came and went and most systems there were fast and efficient. Slowness was not a queen's friend.

"As queen, I would think so," Roren said. "A representative of the queen would be beneficial at Kakariko Village to help guide the builders."

"Sorry to interrupt your meeting," Mayor Bo said, and he lowered hot steaming plates of sweet buns down onto the desk's surface. "But breakfast is served!" he cried with glee, and at once he went to the dining table and ate alone by the fire.

"Good bye, Queen Zelda," Roren bowed. He grabbed another tankard of goat's milk and a plate of sweet buns before entering the long tunnel which led to the wrestling room.

She ignored her food and finally opened the dirtied letter. To her dismay, some words where blotched with rain, but upon closer observation, she could just make out what the words said.

.

_ Dearest Zelda,_

_ A pleasant surprise bestowed me today. It was your hawk whistle, and when I opened the contents of the box, I could not believe my eyes. It played with the morning light and lit up the small white box with vivid colours of the rainbow. I touched them to see if I were dreaming. Each diamond, emerald, sapphire and opal was hard and sharp, and others were smooth and round, intricately cut into squares, ovals and rhombuses, while others were warm as summer days and some colder than winter nights. I could not believe such a precious thing was given to me by you— the Queen of Hyrule, the strong princess who fought by my side, and a newfound friend! At once, I wrapped it in the softest leaves and tucked it inside my hind pocket. If thieves were to rob me of your treasured gift, they will have to wretch it from my cold, dead hands. _

_But enough about the whistle, as I am sure it was for practical reasons rather than a symbolism of our friendship. Your letter is far more important, and as such I have read and reread your letter by the fire for nights on end. It was longer than your other letters with so much emotion written into each word, and each sentence lost the rigid formality of your letters, which I do encourage, for formalities should not be among friends such as ourselves. _

_ Of your marriage concern, I have only one advice to give. Whomever you choose, he will be king and rule by your side forever. Do not marry for the political purpose. Remember about love and intimacy, of friendships and bonds, of hearts' warmth and a passions' fire. When it is extinguished, you will be miserable. Think about the future and your own feelings. Do not rush blindly into marriage, for he may be wearing a mask to become a king. _

_ Yours,_

_ Link_

.

"What is making you smile so widely?"

Zelda startled, flinching at the abrupt voice which came from behind. She turned to see Ilia out of bed, looking healthier than the day before. Her hair was freshly combed, the girlish glint returned to her eyes, and she had on a new pair of rough spun clothes, freshly ironed and washed.

"A letter from a friend," Zelda said, and she folded it neatly and inserted it back into the envelope. She reached for a blank sheet of paper to conduct words for Link, and this time she would drop her formalities as he requested. She was in a bliss—he had returned her feelings of friendship to her with directness and confirmed it to be true, just as she had, so she wrote with such energy that she could speak and write at once. "To you, what is friendship like?"

Ilia breathed deeply as she mustered the courage to speak, for the only friendship she had ever had was with Link, and after yesterday, she found she could have no thoughts or words for him. But, at last, she crossed her arms to brace herself and averted the queen's inquisitive eyes. "A friend is always there for you and accepts you for who you are. Sometimes a friend can see the weaknesses you miss and the strengths you underestimate, so I suppose they make you whole and fill a void whenever you feel one. When you have nothing, they will always give to you. When you are confused, they are there by your side in the thick fog. Sometimes there are fights, but there will always be a day when they reunite with memories of happy times. Friends influence you as you influence them. Who is your friend?"

Abashed, Zelda spoke with simple, quick words: "A swordsman."

A sly grin flashed across Ilia's heart-shaped face. "Oh? And is this swordsman something more than a friend?" she asked.

Zelda felt heat rise at the bottom of her neck until it licked her cheeks and ears in warmth. "No," she said, though her heart raged against her denial. What was happening to her? A queen does not have feelings for a man she does not know wholly—much less a hero everyone reveres.

"You are blushing!" Ilia cried with glee, and Zelda's eyes flickered in annoyance at this accurate observation. "That is too cute. A queen in love with a swordsman?" she gushed. "Is he a knight? A general? A prince from another land? _Oh!_ How romantic!"

"I am not in love—"

"If it is not love than it must be lust," Ilia insisted. "Lust can transform into love, you know? Though it is hard, it can happen. And when it does, love will be strong as it has lust in the hearts of two lovers."

"Excuse me," Zelda said. She rose from her seat and grabbed all of her letters because Ilia distracted her with speculative nonsenses of hopeful romances. She walked outside, letting the cool air seep through her. With hurried steps, she found herself walking to Link's spring, letters, parchments, ink and quill in hand. It was quiet there, and silence was what she needed.

As she entered the separate area with the house entwined with the tree, she almost dropped all her things. For there, sitting atop of the ladder, was Link.


	9. Confrontations

.

* * *

**~ 9 ~**

**Confrontations**

* * *

_Trust your instincts and never go against them, for you have the intuition and wisdom of the sages of old._

* * *

A thoughtful expression was on Link as he gazed skywards, admiring the bright sky which was becoming rarer as winter neared.

"Link!" she called and his blue gaze landed on hers. His eyes widened because of her cumbersome appearance—baggy clothes and too many items all bundled in her arms.

He bounded off the plateau and landed gracefully on his feet. "Here, let me help you," he said, and grabbed a few items out of her hands. Among them was his letter. "Ah, so you have read it?"

"Yes . . ." she trailed off, unsure of how to proceed. After what Ilia had told her, she was flustered and did not know what to do with her hands or her eyes, and so her movements were shaky as she looked away from his handsome face, afraid of the telltale signs of love would blossom on her cheeks.

"Are you well?" Link asked, and his calloused hands grasped her shoulders. She felt his warmth seep through the thin cloth of her dress. Though heat dispersed through her, she shuddered.

"I am," she said firmly, staring straight into his eyes. "I have not yet written to you yet. That is what I am going to do now."

"Would you like to come in?" Link gestured to the house behind him. "It may be messy, but there are chairs and tables for you to use."

"Link," she cried, gaining his attention swiftly.

His eyes, which shined with nostalgia to his former house, quickly transformed into one of horror and worry, for it was a very loud, tortuous cry.

Surprised at her own voice of anguish, Zelda covered her mouth with a hand, overwhelmed by the surge of emotion she felt for Link—so strong, yet too soon. "Walk with me," she murmured.

He nodded, the confusion settling down onto his face like the fog in the morning. He took her things in his arms and went inside the house. When he returned, he climbed down the ladder with reluctance, sensing that something troubled her, that he had crossed her in some way. Whatever he thought, he kept it to himself as he waited patiently for her to speak.

She said nothing and he respected her silence. Together they walked underneath the opened sky. The clouds were absent and the sun a golden blaze. The occasional cry of migrating birds pervaded the cold air. Frigid fingers of wind sliced through her thick dress until she shuddered violently.

Something heavy draped across her shoulders. She turned to see Link without a cloak. Guilt scraped against her chest as she watched him walk with his fur and leather attire, suitable for the present climate, though they were thin and worn. Her hands fumbled to take the cloak off.

"Wear it," he growled, almost with malice, and she, surprised at his sudden impertinence, obeyed immediately but without an objection. She had almost opened her mouth to demand an explanation before he interrupted her with a gentle apologetic tone. "You are always concerned about others and never about yourself."

"So?"

"You must understand it can do more harm than good for being so selfless. Do you see what I mean, Zelda? There are plenty of people in Castle Town who hate you for what you did—surrendering to the twilight—but they do not understand how it helped them since they lived a nightmare during its reign."

"I never knew this."

"That is because they keep it to themselves. You have great power over them. If they uttered a single word against you, many of your guards will overhear it and bring them to court for treason."

"How do I explain to them that I was only being utilitaristic? If I fought against Zant and his army, all of Hyrule would be bathed in a sea of blood."

"They may hold a grudge against you for a lifetime, though some will finally accept the past and live in the present, seeing you as a rightful queen who rules just and kindly. You must remember the people do not know you as well as others who are close to you. They see you as an authoritarian and thus obey your every command in fear of punishment."

Zelda sighed, the realization coming to her as the first sun rays of spring—bright and piercing. So unaccustomed she was to it she felt blinded, dazed, and confused. "So you are saying that I am viewed as an evil tyrant who caused all of Hyrule's strife in the Twilight Invasion?"

"If you put it so bluntly, then yes that is what I am saying."

Horror filled through her—a unique fear which grabbed hold of her from within and enveloped her whole until her blood ran cold and her heart pulsed quickly. "What am I do to?" she cried, covering her face with clammy hands. It never occurred to her that the people viewed her as a villain, it never occurred to her that they hated her with all their being and hid it behind smiles and warmth—all because she was a queen they did not reveal themselves to her and hid truths behind undignified lies. Was she to go down into history as the queen who was so detached and isolated from her people, she would be remembered as a statue—cold, stiff, and unmoving? A tyrant who controlled all the lands, all the people, and all the riches? Why could she not be as kindly as the rulers before her, like her father and her mother who were wiser than she, the princess and bearer of wisdom?

Warmth wrapped around her as she hid from the world and its ugly deceit. "Relax, Zelda," his warm voice murmured in her ear. "It is not as bad as you make it out to be. You are over calculating things, overcomplicating them to their fullest. A pessimist darkens the weather and never sees the silver linings of the clouds."

The calm did not soothe the storm raging inside her. "Do any of the Ordonians think of me like that? Do they secretly hate me?"

"They do not," he replied, holding her close. "They have always revered the royal family—you are no different."

"So they like me only because of the title I bear?" Anger snapped within her, flared throughout her entire body until her face glowed and glowered.

Silence ensued; only their breaths were heard. "Perhaps," he said at last.

What was a small spark of vexation grew into a large fire of rage. She ripped herself from his comfort and turned away, afraid that he would see the tears forming in her eyes. How foolish she had been! To trot around like she was a normal girl, a civilian, and citizen like anybody else, only to be treated as a queen and revered and obeyed like a bloodthirsty tyrant. Embarrassment flamed around her cheeks, and in retribution to her folly, she decided to leave before she proved herself to be more the fool than she already was.

"I am an ignoramus in the guise of a wise queen." What she said was calm like an acknowledgement in defeat.

"Zelda—"

"I will pack my bags tonight and leave by dawn."

"But—"

"You are a very good friend," she said. "Being honest is a valued attribute for me. And for that, I will heed to your words."

He looked panicked, finicky, fleeting. His hand went up and gestured wildly, "Please do not leave. Did you not see my letter? The people will love you if you pull them out of the deep pit they fell into."

"I, too, fell into a pit. I should get out of it myself before assisting others lest we fight and squabble like fools."

She turned and began to walk, but before she could wander anywhere, Link's hand captured hers and pulled her to him.

"You said you would help all of Hyrule. You said I would help them with you. Do not go back on your word, Zelda!" He was on the verge of screaming at her—anger, hurt and betrayal all flitted across his eyes.

She was shocked by his outburst. Link, so calm and patient and kind, had screamed at her. But then again, she had shouted at him first and was the catalyst to his anger. Whatever civil manners they had was flung skywards, and now they were stripped bare and naked, each of them sensing their true horrors and fears they hid beneath, like wild beasts exposed in daylight. He was wounded and broken like her, like everyone else. He was betrayed and hurt all because she disagreed to do what was right. Had her anger and fear blinded her reason?

She breathed and counted each breath before she began to speak. "What good am I if I cannot help myself? Each day, I awake in the midst of a nightmare. The guilt eats me alive, Link. I feel horrible. Do you think I wanted to surrender? I wanted a truce. Alas, I could not. I surrendered because I had no other choice. I knew it would save plenty of lives, but it would make those lives live in a world where darkness descends upon every soul. It is the past, but it catches up to me every day. Every waking hour, I feel so lethargic and cold and—" _Lonely. _She desperately wanted to say lonely. How she longed for someone to speak to besides Auru. She wished for her mother to soothe her with warm hands caressing her hair, her father encouraging her to follow her own dreams and her own way while being the role model she sought to be. She longed for all of it, but she knew it was lost.

_"I _can help you."

He tightened his grip on her hand as if she were a petal in a breeze and would flit across the skies if he let go of her.

She snorted, a great big glob of snot running down her nose. Had she been crying? She wiped the wetness away from her face. "You are as broken as anyone else."

He grimaced at that, flinched at her unkind words, and she gasped for she did not mean to hurt him at all, yet her observation had hurled him into his own battle within. She saw it as his eyes flickered in pain, and at last he glanced up at her, determination set in them and in the hard line of his jaw.

"Only the broken can become strong," he said. "We have faced hardships. Do not neglect those harsh memories—look at them as a lesson to be learned, a nightmare you have conquered and controlled. Use it to your advantage."

Zelda stood, agape. "You can observe things others are too blind to see," she said, stepping towards him, "like me, unfortunately."

"Ignorance is weak in you."

She ignored his comment and grasped his hand. Surprised, his hand fell stiff in hers. Slowly he relaxed as she placed his hand on her cheek, allowing his warmth flow over her skin until she closed her eyes and a smile replaced the frown that had been on her lips before. She needed him as he needed her, and together, it seemed, they could conquer anything—nightmares, rumours, hatred, and all. "Be my eyes and ears, Link," she murmured.

He bowed his head against hers.

"I will."

* * *

When they had at last returned to Link's abandoned house, the sun's warmth faded away as night replaced it, looming in the horizon with diluted streaks of blue and orange. Zelda climbed up the ladder, watching as the ground below her turned smaller.

"Before I leave," she called down to him, "I will write you that letter."

He entered the house moments after her, finding her by the dirty countertop filled with cluttered pots and pans and a single candle, which she had lit. She swept aside his things and replaced it with the parchments and ink well she found on an empty chair. As she wrote by the candlelight, Link wandered around silently, exploring the house that had been his months ago, but now it felt so alien, so surreal, that he thought as if it were someone else's house and not his at all.

"Finished," she said suddenly, startling him. He went to her, but she stood swiftly and blocked him away with her arms. "It is still wet with ink. Wait for it to dry and then read it." She smiled.

"I am patient enough," he said.

"I wanted to say that you have helped me. You can see right through me, Link. That could be a blessing or a curse for you, whichever way you want to look at it."

"I find it a blessing. I can see the things you cannot, and I am sure you are the same with me."

She sighed, placing her elbow on the table and her hand beneath her chin, looking around Link's house. It was small and cozy with only two ladders leading up to other platforms and another leading down to a basement. It was an unusual house with twigs and branches that swirled and hugged the walls like tendrils of ivy, idyllic and a sight to behold, for she had never been in a house built within a tree before. Dead leaves were on every surface from the carpets to the hardwood floor. Everything else was like any other house, although it was messy but organized in its own unique way. Pictures of the known world hung on the walls—little paintings of Lake Hylia, the desert, the castle and its town, Zora's Domain, and Death Mountain. There were two tables, the one she sat at—which was used for eating and cooking—and another behind her with buckets stacked upon it. A bookcase was adjacent to her, each shelf stuffed with books on politics, economics, history, Hylian literature, philosophy and law—only a few were fairy tales and Hylian myths for leisurely reading. The one window was high, and she saw the stars winking at her from it. She took it all in, fully aware that one's house displayed what someone was on the inside.

"You look in awe." He chuckled. He sat by the fireplace beside her, trying to light it.

"Where do the ladders lead to?" she asked.

"The one next to the window is where I sleep—I love looking at the night sky. It is my favourite time of day and always will be."

"As do I," she said.

"The one by the pictures is where my actual bed is." He laughed. "You must think I am crazy, sleeping on a hard floor instead of a bed. But I do have a reason, and that reason is that I find more solace when the open sky is near me."

"Why do you not move the bed to your familiar sleeping spot?"

He tilted his head, laughter dancing within his eyes and on his lips. "I have never thought about it before."

"I can easily arrange it for you," she said, already climbing the ladder. A dusty mat and limp pillow lied among the wooded floor. She picked it up and shook the dirt off, then proceeded to climb back down the ladder and up to the other one by the window. "Too many ladders," she muttered, finally reaching her destination and flattening Link's bed out.

She turned to him, gazing downwards from her elevated position. After seeing him in his abandoned house, which was something in his past—and the past he always tried so desperately tried to escape—an idea came to her mind. What had he been doing there, sitting atop the steps out in plain sight when she had visited him? Any moment, the village children could spot him when venturing to the forest and Rusl too could see Link on one of his many trips to gather firewood.

"Tell me now," she murmured, "will you accept your past? You are here, in this house, and so you are facing something that you wished to leave behind, like so many other things."

Link was silent and still, thinking to himself. It was a random question that was direct and bold, but if she had been rude, he did not react appropriately. Instead, a finger went to his lips as if to cease any words that would fall from hushed breaths, but at last he put his hands to his sides and paced around, his eyes wandering from the pictures which adorned the walls, to the modest wooded flooring, and at last to the window high above her head. He gazed around frantically, his eyes switching from the largest furniture to the smallest clutter. What he saw was a house that was once his, and as he experienced it for what seemed like the first time, he came to the conclusion that this was his house—a house he abandoned and left to rot, but he had returned and that was something so significant and so surreal that he stopped pacing, turned towards her and looked her right in the eye before speaking the thoughts he had held within.

As a man of few words, he was quick and concise: "I suppose so."

She did not like looking down at him, lifted by another level and isolated with only the starlight to keep her company. So she climbed down before carrying on her discussion, facing eye to eye, standing so close that she saw the intricate design within the iris of his eye—a warped web which grew larger as it spread away from his pupil, which, to her surprise, widened as it stared intensely at her.

"Link," said she, backing away. "Please help the village heal. I cannot do this alone. You and I made a vow to fix all of Hyrule together. Why not Ordon?" Then, to her horror, she realized that he would make the same argument of being respected far too highly than what he thought was acceptable. So she added hastily, "I understand you dislike the attention. I understand you feel torn and separated and distanced from the village you grew in to an extent in which you feel more of an outsider than me, the strangest person to even be in a tiny village. The villagers expect you to return someday. I know you will never return judging by the way your recent behaviour—avoiding everything and everyone and not even attempting to renew your relationship with Ilia. If you just give them a chance . . ." She cleared her dried throat, breathless from her quick words. ". . . It is possible to create a bridge of understanding between you. Please . . . it is for the best . . . for their sakes and yours."

"I . . ." he began, unsure of what to say next. His eyes wandered again, searching for an answer that was not in front of him, that was nowhere to be found. He clamped his hands together and squeezed them, all the while averting her gaze. "There is nothing to say but you are right and I was wrong. I admit that I am foolish. I admit that it was I who was naïve and silly to run away from the problem at hand rather than approaching it head on. I cannot run from it anymore. I must do what I avoided," he said. Then, with a flicker of his eyes, his blue gaze stared into her that she started, a bit enchanted and dazed by them. "What I said to you before in the forest applies to me as well."

She approached him, her hands seeking his out to hold and touch. His fingers twined with hers. "When you spoke to me of facing hardships, you must have been thinking of yourself as well. But you did not know at that point in time."

"Now I know," Link replied, "because of you." He gave her hand a small squeeze, gentle and soft. "Thank you."

Still holding her hand, he kneeled and bowed his head to her.


	10. Restless Nights and Blissful Days

**.**

* * *

**~ 10 ~**

**Restless Nights and Blissful Days**

* * *

_If you are the wind behind me, then I will be the sun that gives you warmth and light._

* * *

The blue light of dawn lazily brightened her room—slowly at first, and then suddenly her entire room was bathed in shades of dull azure. She awoke with a dreamy smile and tempted herself to fall back to sleep. But she could not, because happy thoughts raced through her mind.

Zelda could recall every little detail of what had happened last night. Before she entered Mayor Bo's house, she was hounded by Ulfur who jumped out of the shadows with a sword that thrashed everywhere, wagging its sharp shine in her face, demanding wild answers to vivid questions. He soon grew horrified at the realization that his simple lecturing looked more of a threat, and at once he dropped his sword and begged her for forgiveness. Zelda laughed it off and patted his shoulder, all the while keeping her lips sealed in a small hint of a smile. She would never tell anyone that she spent all of the evening with Link. Instead, she created a lame excuse of picking berries in the woods, which caused even more of a distress in Ulfur who believed she should be watched at all times by someone with a sword.

What a day yesterday was! She lied down in Mayor Bo's large queen sized bed, her arms tucked behind the back of her head, reminiscing the events of last night. At first she grew angry at herself for letting her carefully built tower to crumble at the touch of Link's gentle hands and soothing words. It ashamed her for crying in front of him; she hated showing emotions as she deemed them to be a sign of weakness, and so she created a stoic mask for herself which made her feel secure. Nonetheless, it felt as if a weight had lifted off her chest—she felt lighter and airier and relaxed ever since she spoke with Link of their problems, which were mostly non-existent for her that morning now that it was spoken of and thus out of the way. Carefree, she decided to sleep a little more, enjoying the warmth of her bed and the soft murmurs of the crackling fire.

There came a loud shriek to her right. Zelda opened one eye and saw the hawk with a rolled piece of paper attached to its ankle. She got out of bed and approached the window, which was sadly out of reach as it was a very high, glassless window decorated with carved swirls. Wooded bars were placed to keep a variety of large animals out. Muttering, she went to the opposite side of the room and picked up a small stool by the fireplace. She placed it directly under the window and faced the hawk eye to eye.

"Thank you," she said, retrieving the parchment. It was a very small piece of paper, curled up and twisted. She unfurled it and saw the familiar and messy handwriting of Link's.

.

_Meet me at my house._

_~Link_

.

Immediately, she dressed in the outfit Ilia had laid outside by a chair and grabbed the leftovers of last night's dinner, which she had missed due to helping Link clean his house. She wrote a hasty note explaining her absence, telling Ulfur and Mayor Bo not to worry about her—she was just going out for a morning walk. She also added a postscript mentioning that a dagger was with her to cease Ulfur's concerns. As soon as the pen dropped from her hands, she dashed out into the cold winter morning.

She sprinted as fast as her dress would let her. It was way before the break of dawn, and to her fortune, everyone was fast asleep. If they were to see her sneaking out, she could only imagine what reasons they would make up with their vivid imaginations. Perhaps one would dare to follow her? She chuckled. What a surprise it would be!

As she entered the secluded grove, she spotted Link sitting atop of the tree's platform. He wrote furiously onto his lap, and she could not help but smile as his tongue poked out and aimed upwards, thoughtfully licking his top lip in concentration.

"Hello," she called to him, and at once he dropped his pen and glanced down at her.

A smile flashed across his face. "Zelda!" he cried, and he hopped down as swift and elegant as a hawk taking flight.

"How was your day so far?" she asked. He grabbed her things out of her hands and helped her up the ladder.

"I sent you a message and began to write out a letter for you. So far, all I have is _Dear Zelda." _He climbed behind her. "In other words, it was as boring as watching the leaves move on a tree. And you? I am certain you have went about your economical business with Mayor Bo. He always had big dreams but never enough gut to actually act upon them. I think, with your help, he will finally be fulfilled."

"I spoke to him yesterday about that and will be meeting him again today. But for the time being, let us enjoy our time together."

They entered his modest house and she was in awe at how beautiful the interior was during daylight. Everything was crisp and clean and put in its correct spot so she could finally gaze upon the setting without clutter clogging her sight. Golden light filtered through his only window, brightening Link's preferred sleeping spot and dividing when it passed the platform and onto a new rug placed on the floor. She gasped at it, for it was an authentic type of rug in all its glory with knitted goat's wool entwined to form patterns. Hawk feathers circled constantly, starting from the perimeter until it consumed itself into a vortex. At the centre, a cluster of woolen hawk grass sat.

"This is new," she commented, tilting her head slightly as she tried to gain different angles to admire it. The light bounced off it nicely, showcasing its fine design and keen eye to colour. It formed an illusion of shading when it really was only different threads dyed in various shades ranging from light to dark brown.

Link approached behind her, looking passed her shoulder and at the rug as if it were no big deal. "That I made during the night. I cannot sleep at times and I find that doing mindless tasks keeps the mind busy without tiring me out so much."

She turned to him, noticing a slight pink hue on the apples of his cheeks. "It is beautiful," she smiled. "Who taught you such fine craftsmanship? As a warrior, I thought—" She cut herself off, not trusting her voice to carry on and criticize him for slaying beasts and monsters to reclaim Hyrule's honour. A silence hung in the air, heavy and thick like the rumbling clouds before a thunderstorm.

"These hands may have shed blood, but that does not mean they can create and shape forms into artistic works."

He had more talents than just killing, she realized. He was calm, but his eyes hardened and his jaw was stiff indicating he was angry and hurt by her lack of tact. Mentally, she cursed herself for the slip of her tongue.

Hoping to turn the conversation around, she smiled widely, her cheeks straining so hard that she felt them quaver and tremble until at last they fell like an injured dancer attempting to continue her clumsy routine.

To her surprise, it was his turn to smile. His eyes brightened like that of a sun in a clear blue day and his laughter emitted from his mouth, shaky at first and then full and loud and beautiful. It carried throughout the entire house, bouncing off the walls and high into the ceiling where it jumped out the window, startling the birds which fluttered and flew. Zelda feared his loud glee would wake the entire village, but that fear soon washed away when she found herself laughing with him. No, she was not angry that he was laughing _at _her, though she suppose he was with her failed attempt at a grin, instead she felt a tad bit embarrassed about the whole situation, but it was gone as soon as she laughed alongside him. It was true that laughing relieved oneself of awkward moments and humiliating situations. It was uncanny of her—a queen trained in propriety—to cast cruel prejudice upon him. Nonetheless, she could only hope he would forgive her rudeness.

"Forgive me—"

He raised a hand for silence. "It is not your fault. Everyone believes that, since I can do something as ugly and horrifying as destroying life, I cannot create anything that is beautiful with the same tainted hands. It is all right; I am used to it."

"It is a surprise that you have such a beautiful talent," she said, circling the rug. "Who taught you how to knit?" she asked.

"Ilia," he said briefly. She looked up at him, sensing the choked tone beneath Ilia's name. He looked away. "She taught me many things. How to make tea from the lemongrass growing in the forest, how to knit, how to care for a horse and goats . . . among many other things."

"You have a great eye for colour," she said. "I am curious. What other things are you good at besides sword fighting?"

A smile parted on his lips. "Goat herding."

"And . . . ?"

"I am a surprisingly very good singer." He went over to the table and brought out two chairs. He gestured for her to sit and the two sat by the dying fire.

She chuckled at his sarcastic undertone. He did have a melodious voice, she noticed. Each syllable he spoke was like a note in a song—some lasted forever, drawing out its sweetness, while others were short and clipped, broadcasting his urgency. "Perhaps you can teach me to sing some time?" she asked. "I am utterly tone deaf."

"I would be honoured."

She counted her fingers. "So far we have sword fighting, knitting, and singing. Certainly you have more talents. I see you are at one with nature. Are you good at gardening?"

"Of course. I am—_was—_a farmer. I can grow the biggest pumpkins. The trick is the soil and amount of sun. The darker the soil, the more nutrient. The sunnier, the better."

"That makes four," she smiled warmly. "See? Four beautiful talents."

"Three," he said quickly. "I do not think sword fighting is a beautiful thing. It can be deadly."

Her eyes flickered towards him and then flickered back to the rug. She lowered her head and spoke softly. "Have you ever heard of the art of the blade?"

"No."

"Sword fighting can be a thing of beauty. Many actors use it to convey strong emotions in a faux fight."

"But I am thinking of the realities of it, not some childish fantasy conveyed for the purposes of entertainment."

"There are blade dancers who floated in the air and flowed freely, moving as if they were made of water as the blades cut through the wind and towards the sky. They were beautiful sight to behold, these blade dancers. It was an art form. They fought an unknown, invisible enemy with such beauty and grace, it was as if the monsters were really there."

"I hardly think I can dance with a blade. All I can do is strike with it and wreak havoc on what whatever it hits. To dance with something that I have used for killing seems pointless to me." He hung his low, cradling between rough hands. "I am not an artist; I am a killer."

"No, no . . . " Zelda wrapped an arm around his back and began to soothe him. She knew what he was going through. He dug a large grave for himself and would never get out of it lest he saw a light and reason to climb from his misery. She had been like that—she _was_ like that.

She pinched her nose, denying herself to remember such sadness. It would only make her shed a tear when Link needed her to stay strong.

"Link," she started. "I am sorry that happened. I am sorry. Truly, I am. But you must get over it. Stop running. Head forth. Is that not what you said to me last night?"

She waited for a response. He said nothing.

At last a sigh escaped from his lips. He sat straight and his hands parted only to slightly move away the messy blond hair fringing above his brow. "I know, Zelda," he said. "I know this but I cannot _do _it. I cannot be who I want to be. I cannot do what I want to do. I feel useless and afraid of our little plan. What will they say to me? What will I say to them? I was up all night thinking about it. I cannot just waltz in and make a sudden appearance."

"Force yourself to get out of bed and get moving," she said.

Link smirked a little. "I am out of bed."

"That was just a saying—"

"A very crude one at that!" He grinned, finding great amusement. "Whatever happened to your fancy proverbs, Zelda?"

She got off her chair and pulled it to the kitchen table. On top was the leftovers she had brought. With nimble fingers she began to unpack and set up breakfast. "You will be surprised what a little push can do," she said, turning to him.

He was next to her now with a chair in his hand. He set it down and sat. He still had that awful forlorn look on him, but a small smile rose on his lips as their eyes met. "And will you be the wind on my back to give me that push?"

"Yes, I will be exactly that."

A sudden chill drifted through the air, softly moving cloths, fabrics and tendrils of hair, and with it, small crystals danced. She shivered. He smiled at her.

"If you are the wind behind me, then I will be the sun that gives you warmth and light."

From the opened window, the beginnings of snow began to float aimlessly down only to be melted instantly.

* * *

The next day, Zelda returned to him when the sun was directly above, giving a brilliant glare that bounced off the small film of powdery snow on the ground. Her dress, a vivid blue, swished as she walked briskly across the familiar path of Ordon Village.

"Good morning!" Hanch, a tiny and hunch-backed man, yelled from above.

She glanced up to see him with his plump wife, Sera, sitting with a picnic basket on an elevated earth pillar. Vines crawled on one side by the pumpkin patch, and she highly suspected that was the only way up.

"Good morning," she replied with a chirp and a bounce in her step. She always smiled whenever she saw the married couple because they contradicted each other in appearances and personalities. One would guess that Sera, a large and dramatic lady, and Hanch, a small and timid man, would most likely be at each other's throats. Sera seemed the type to love control and Hanch a man too cowardly to face his own fears. Yet, they had somehow made their marriage work. To her, it was a reminder that love grew in mysterious places.

"Any luck with Mayor Bo?" Hanch leaned forward and loudly whispered, "He always has his two feet up whenever he sits."

"Yes, he is very insightful and has given plenty of ideas. Roren and I intend to implement them. I am creating the plans and comparing them to the resources Hyrule has and Roren will be doing the building since he is the engineer and architect."

Hatch yawned as Sera piped up. "Where are you heading? To the forest for more berries?"

"I . . . yes, I am."

"Oh! Darling, could you get me some winterberries? The winterberry jam attracts a lot of customers!"

"Customers?"

"My wife here owns a shop. And the only customers there are Pergie and Jaggle."

Sera laughed heartily, pounding the ground with a fist. "Talo is the only one who eats the jam in that family."

"Winterberry jam it is too sour for anyone to handle but _real _men," Hanch explained.

"That darling is just a cutie! Remember when you were that age, darling?"

Hanch blushed. "I would rather forget."

"He used to play with wooden swords out back—"

Hanch waved his arms wildly about as Sera continued blabbing about his awkward puberty adventure. Zelda took that as a sign to leave. "Perhaps you could tell me another time?" she asked, clutching hard onto her woven basket.

Sera laughed loudly. "If I remember!"

"Hopefully she does," he muttered.

They said farewells. Zelda continued onwards to Link's grove before getting interrupted again by two preteens.

"Give it back!" one whined. "Talo!"

Talo ran by her so quickly that she only saw a blur of white and blue clothes and a head of brown hair. She stopped in her tracks to prevent from crashing into him, and the boy dodged her unnecessarily doing a sloppy cartwheel. She watched in horror as his arms wobbled beneath him and gave way, letting his whole form crash onto the snow.

The one who whined stomped in front of Zelda, a tall and willowy girl with chestnut brown hair. The girl stopped briefly at Talo's crumpled self. She snatched a cherry red ribbon out of his hands with a sneer and promptly gave him a kick to the stomach.

"You should be more like a gentleman . . . like Colin!" she shouted, and then she crossed her arms and gave a little _humph. _

"Beth-butt!" he shouted back.

"Monkey lover!"

"Hopeless case!"

"Children!" Zelda came between them, her arms outstretched to prevent each from hitting the other.

"The queen!" The girl's eyes widened as round as saucers. She dipped low into a curtsy. "Beg your pardon, Your Grace."

"Stop fighting. It disturbs the peace of the village."

"But he stole my ribbon—"

"Only because she thinks I am a child!"

"Because you _are _a child. Frolicking around like a ninny-winny."

Zelda sighed. "Children!" she called, and at once they stopped talking and lowered their heads. "Talo, you should not express your anger in actions. Talk it out with a friend if you must, but never enact upon rage. Anger is one letter away from danger, you understand?"

Talo nodded his head sadly. Beth snickered, enjoying his punishment from the queen.

"And Beth—" Beth stopped her laughter at once. "—if you need your belongings back, asking is the way to go. Not chasing."

"Yes, Your Grace." Beth curtsied again.

"Are you going into the woods for winterberries?" Talo suddenly asked, a wide toothy grin forming. "I love winterberries! They are for _real _men. I heard Link eats them. Remember that, Beth?"

Beth crossed her arms. "Real men eat meat of the bear. Like Colin."

"Please bring back winterberries?"

"I will," Zelda said, and waved them farewell.

When she had at last reached her destination to Link's grove, he was not there as he usually was sitting atop of the elevated platform to his house. She glanced about, surprised at how different his grove looked when it was covered in pure white snow. The trees had a soft layer above the dark evergreens and the ground was covered fully in a blanket and not ruined by any footprints. She grabbed a hold of the ladder and climbed high, a feeling of wonder capturing her. It was warmer out and not a single breeze fluttered by. The grove was a still landscape seized within a painting of the faintest blues, purest whites and boldest greens.

The door suddenly creaked opened, and Zelda, still clinging to the ladder, almost lost her grip at the noise.

"Zelda!" Link exclaimed. "I was about to go into the village and ask you to pluck some winterberries with me."

"How amusing," she replied, pulling herself up onto the platform. "I was about to ask you to join me in a winterberry picking event."

He helped her up. "Shall we, then?"

"Yes, but first let us fill our stomachs." Zelda raised her arm and wiggled the hand that carried the basket with food in it. "I told Ulfur I would deliver your lunch today. I included my own as well."

They entered, a blast of warmth seeping around them. Nearby, a fire crackled and emitted its faint glow across the floor. Shadows moved and danced as it flickered on. Link sat down in front of it, watching as the flames licked within its stone prison cell.

"Hot cocoa?" Zelda unscrewed the metal thermos and poured the hot liquid into the two mugs she had borrowed from Mayor Bo's place.

Link nodded solemnly, his form stiff and his hands like ivory. She eyed him as she retrieved the cold chicken and honey-mustard sauce from its container and placed them on plates. His jaw was as still as his blue gaze hardened on some invisible object, puzzled and determined to solve a problem within. Troubled, Zelda placed a hand on his shoulder and he nearly leapt up at her warm touch.

Link's gaze softened as he met hers. "What is it?"

Zelda cleared her throat before speaking, averting his gaze. She hated how he looked at her; it made her feel bashful and warm all over and forced her head to be emptied and filled with air. "What bothers you?" she asked, concentrating on cutting the chicken into thin slices.

"Today is the day I return."

"You are nervous," she commented, not surprised.

"Entirely."

"What time will you go?"

"Whenever you go, I will return along your side to the village."

She stopped slicing, pondering for a moment. "That will not do," she said, handing him his plate. "The people will blame me for keeping you hostage. I do not want such a hassle."

Link picked up his fork and poked a slice, dipping it in the rich, creamy mustard sauce. He chewed and swallowed before saying anything. "Then I shall leave tonight, so you will have to take your leave soon."

"I do not mind. I spent nearly all of yesterday with you, which is why I am so far behind in helping Roren. I must say, Link, you are quite the distraction." She grinned, and he returned it with one of his breathtaking smiles that made her feel reassured and relaxed all at once. She sighed. She wished she had such a smile . . . she wished she smiled _more, _but she was trained to think that smiling was a flirtatious gesture, and as a queen, she would never flirt unless in private quarters.

Immediately, her smile wiped away at the thought. She desperately hoped Link did not know such odd customs of monarchs.

Link did not notice her sudden change in countenance, and if he did, he did not react to it. He busied himself with consuming the meal before him, and Zelda did the same. Until both plates and both mugs were emptied, no one said a word.

"Let me wash those for you," he said, picking up the dirty dishes. He went to the opposite side of the room where the wash buckets were. The dishes clattered against each other and the water sloshed onto the floor.

Zelda had her back turned against him, still sitting by the fire. She threw a log into the flames and watched as it got engulfed—slowly at first, and then it charred with white ashes huddled beneath it as the flames turned small. She never realized how beautiful it was. Back at the castle, she was too busy to see anything or to wonder about such things, but out here, she could examine everything in all its detail. To gain curiosity after losing it long ago amazed her.

A hand with bright red winterberries entered her vision, and she was startled that she flinched back and hit her head off something warm.

"Oh!" was all she said, and she turned around to see Link's beautiful light blue eyes staring back at her with amusement.

"Give these to Talo. He loves them," he said, lowering his gaze. "You can have some, too, since you wanted to go winterberry picking."

"Do you not like winterberry picking?" she asked, confused. He said he wanted to join her, so why the sudden change in mind?

"I have to prepare a speech tonight, so I cannot waste any more time—not that spending time with you is a waste," he smiled cheerfully, "I enjoy every moment with you."

"I guess we will go tomorrow," she commented sadly.

When she returned to Mayor Bo's house to discuss further plans with Roren, orange rays of light dispersed throughout the air and brightened the town in a heavenly glow. She walked, enjoying the sound of the water trickling nearby from the windmill. It was not frozen yet, but she heard Pergie and Jaggle were going to cover it before the water froze over.

She opened the door, only to look up and see three pairs of eyes staring at her. She froze in place, for they were eating dinner and she had interrupted them.

Mayor Bo was the first to speak. "Queen Zelda! Come and join us. We have boiled beans, fresh vegetables soaked in gravy, some wild boar meat, and goat cheese with fruit to the side." He gestured to each plain plate set on the wooden table. Zelda looked around the table to see Roren and Ilia sit side by side, Roren subtly slipping some goat cheese onto her plate. Ilia's eyes narrowed in on her, and at that, Zelda gulped and hastily broke her away gaze and stared at Mayor Bo's great moustache. "Got an appetite?" He was already putting mountain loads of food on her plate.

"Mayor Bo, I do not think Her Grace has _that _big of an appetite," Roren interrupted.

With his free hand, Mayor Bo waved away at his excuse. "Nonsense, nonsense! This is good mood food. Fills you up and keeps you happy. Hey, Queen Zelda, you want ale or apple cider for your drink?"

Zelda quietly slipped off the basket from her arm and slid into a vacant seat next to Ulfur. He grinned at her, nodding happily with a fork full of food. "Is very good," he said between mouthfuls of pork.

"Cider is fine," she said, folding her hands onto her lap. She looked at the cutlery and crockery. It was simple—there were no salad plates and forks, there were no bread knives and dinner knives, nor were there any dessert spoons and cake forks—it was just a plate, a cup, a knife and a fork, and it felt odd just looking at its simplicity, dizzying almost.

Mayor Bo, who sat at the head of the table, reached across Ulfur's plate and handed it to her. "Enjoy!" He smiled.

Everyone had already finished half their plates—with the exception of Ulfur, who was already on his seconds. They chattered around aimlessly as Zelda ate in silence. She was so used to at dinner arrangements like these for she usually ate alone in solitude, unless it was a visitor on business meetings, and that was when they spoke of the kingdom's affairs. But here, she felt out of place with Roren and Ilia shamelessly flirting with each other and Mayor Bo slapping Roren on the back like a friend of old. They were close, and she was a stranger and a queen. She was about to speak to Ulfur, but he busied himself in tidying up all the dishes.

"So Zelda," Ilia caught her attention immediately, "how was your walk today? A bit chilly, is it not?"

"It was cold, but the winterberries were worth it," she said, setting down her fork. She glanced about and saw that Mayor Bo had retired to bed. Only Roren and Ilia remained, both snuggling up to each other in front of the fire. Each had warm ciders in hand.

"We did not speak much of Ordon's plans as of late," Roren commented. "Would you be so kind to discuss it now?"

"Of course," Zelda replied, leaning forward onto the table. "What are your concerns?"

"Mayor Bo just had an idea this morning. He heard that there were oil sellers nearby in the forest. After seeing that lanterns create more light than candles, he wants to invest in these sellers and create a company in Castle Town."

Zelda's eyes brightened at this news. "What a brilliant idea. I guess we will have to do negotiations with the oil sellers later this week. And how is the bridge coming along, Roren?"

"I made designs that are ready for building."

Ilia smiled and laughed, rubbing her hand against Roren's chest soothingly. "Is that not amazing? Hyrule's first metal bridge! We are arriving at a new age of technology—no more stones and wood and rope!"

"That is all there is, Your Grace. Now, if you will excuse me, I will have to retire to bed. Good night." Roren got off his chair and waited expectedly. "Are you not coming, Ilia?"

"I need a few words with Her Grace. Good night," she said sweetly. As soon as he left the room, Ilia spun around and stared daggers at Zelda. "You are lying! I can see it through your eyes," she seethed.

Taken aback, Zelda returned calmly, "It is true. I have not only gone winterberry picking. I have been seeing Link these past few days. And so what of it, Ilia? What is it that makes you angry?"

Ilia leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, averting Zelda's cool gaze. "I would have seen Link, too, if I were not so angry at him. He is a coward to face us."

Zelda smirked. "Oh, but you are wrong," she said, her smile growing for she could not hold a secret.

This piqued Ilia's interest. "You are still lying, I see," she said coldly.

"He will come tonight. I know of it."

"Why would he? It is too late for such a show."

Ilia spoke the truth, Zelda realized. It was far too late to make a spectacle when everyone was asleep. At this thought, Zelda squeezed her eyes shut, feeling a fool for challenging Ilia and attempting to prove her wrong. If he came tonight, it would rouse the village awake. Knowing Link, she knew he could not do such a reckless thing.

"Then he will come tomorrow," Zelda said. With that, she left the table and went to bed.

As the moonlight poured through the window, she stared at the stars and sighed. She hoped Link had no haunting thoughts to keep him at bay from sleep's blissful waves.


	11. Daybreak

**.**

* * *

**~ 11 ~**

**Daybreak**

* * *

_It was not the overwhelming sadness that came from the bottom of her gut and crawled its way up to her throat, closing it and rendering her breathless. No, it must be the changing of the light and nothing more._

* * *

The next day came as a surprise to all. The sunrise bloomed over the trees, casting a sliver of orange and pink upon their branches in an ethereal glow, and in response to the beginnings of a beautiful day, the Ordonians had woken up early to the first rays of sunlight. Some of them had stuck their hands out the window to test the weather, and it felt as if winter had decided to delay its cold visit.

In the household of Mayor Bo's, no one was woken from the chirpings of early morning birds but of the loud call of Mayor Bo's gravelly voice. Roren, Ulfur, Ilia, and Zelda rubbed sleep from their eyes, entered the main room, and sat at the pre-set table. Fresh baked pumpkin bread sat on hot plates, goat milk—sour and strong smelling—was poured into empty glasses, butter and winterberry jam glistened in clear containers, and the star of the meal were the slices of sweet cakes drenched in the nectar of Hylian flowers imported from Castle Town. Upon this observation, Zelda noticed that today was a very special day.

She glanced at Mayor Bo as he served everyone. It appeared that he had been up before the break of dawn, and as such, he was a grouch. He mumbled his greetings and responded to questions with only nods and gruff grunts. He declined any offer of assistance and continued working away in the kitchen until Ilia's constant bickering finally drove him mad and thus he accepted her as his secondary chef. As the two worked away at a mystery meal, Roren and Ulfur were left alone to their devices while Zelda feigned exhaustion.

"So, Roren, how are you and Ilia working out? I never heard of romances outside of Castle Town for us townies," Ulfur commented, pretending he did not care. Zelda's eyes flashed to him, surprised at the level of interest he had in such a topic.

Roren cleared his throat and set down the slice of sweet cakes he had been gnawing on. "I love her as she loves me. It is mutual in all degrees. There is no imbalance in our relationship, and we think that is the key to loving unconditionally as we had both experienced unrequited love, a thing that is dreadful in almost every way. The fool is the lover and the loved prances around never knowing his true intentions and feelings. But he does not want to express himself in fear of rejection, or in Ilia's case, fear of ruining a good friendship. Is that not so, sweet pumpkin?"

Ilia glanced their way. "Busy," she called back, and that was all she said as she returned to baking.

"If I were to be in your boots, Roren," Ulfur replied, "I would have looked the lady right in the eye and profess everything I have felt to her. For me, it is all or nothing. What could you lose if you do not even try?"

"Dignity," Zelda said suddenly. Roren and Ulfur all looked at her as if they saw a ghost. She gave them a small smile and then thinned her lips in bashfulness, for they were speaking of a tender subject of love, and in her heart she desired to gain such a wonder someday but was too afraid to show it to all, so she ceased speaking and began serving them food. "Jam, butter or both?" she asked to Ulfur.

"No, Your Grace, I can do it myself and I can do yours as well," he cried, scraping his chair and flying to her with both hands flung out eager to help.

"If you insist so desperately," she said and seated herself down, glad that the topic disappeared. As a queen, she could not think of such silly things like love and romance; but as a hopeless romantic, her dreamy mind blissfully wandered away to a world of dim candles, filtered moonlight and the smell of blossoms in the air. It was a secret that no one knew but herself, and she intended to hide such a futile weakness inside.

"Ahem," Roren cleared his throat, "would you like to discuss our progress on the bridge, Your Grace?"

"When does building begin?" she asked immediately. Link's grove resided directly in front of the entrance to the forest, and if anyone saw him around suspicions would arise. She desperately hoped Link would arrive today, and if not, her expectations for him would mark a void in her heart, pressuring her chest until she was rendered breathless.

Roren's eyes widened at her anxiousness. "As soon as possible, but if you wish to delay, we can wait until spring—"

"I want that bridge before spring, Roren!" Mayor Bo barked from the kitchen.

Roren gave a nervous little giggle and nodded, "Right, Mayor Bo. I will try to get it done before the snow melts." As he turned around and faced Zelda, who sat across from him, a panicked expression enveloped him whole.

"You may start today, if you wish. The metal from Death Mountain can be shipped directly from here. I will have to write to Auru requesting for assistance."

"I can do that," Roren said suddenly, startling her for she had more to say. He hesitated for her to continue, but she gestured for him to speak. "I heard tales that Your Grace has never been outside of Castle Town . . . or was it the castle? Hmm, I do not quite recall, but nevertheless, these days are yours to relax and rejoice beneath the open sky and reconnect with nature. I am sure stone walls can feel like a prison at times, so enjoy this moment for you will have to return to Hyrule's capital someday as you are the Queen of Hyrule herself. I suspect the castle is in chaos without your orderly presence nearby, Queen Zelda," he grinned.

"I do not like to think of it as a stone wall of imprisonment," she returned, "but as a golden cage filled with luxuries and riches that have become so common to me, they have lost their wonder and are no better than a bird's simple enclosure, empty with only a perch to sleep on." She cleared her throat and averted her gaze, for she had gone too deep into such a depressing topic. "Tell Auru of our plans, then. And if he has any news for me, hand me the letter itself."

"As you wish, Your Grace," said he.

The smell of sweet cinnamon and apples drifted through the room as Ilia sauntered over with a plateful of flat cakes piled high. Mayor Bo followed with a large tin can in his hands and a ladle tucked gingerly between his bicep and torso. He carefully set the tin can in the middle of the table, and Zelda, being curious, stretched her neck and gazed at the substance inside. Maple syrup dripped from the sides and pooled to the bottom, and at the sight of this, her stomach growled. Embarrassed at such a monstrous noise, she placed her hands over her abdomen as if to muffle its complaints for food.

Ulfur immediately grabbed her plate and placed a small sweet cake, pumpkin bread with butter glazed on top, and two flat cakes drenched in both maple syrup and nectar. He glanced at her with a hopeful look of approval, and in response she nodded and smiled while giving her blessing of thanks.

Mayor Bo sat at the head of the table with Ilia to his right and Ulfur on his left. Zelda sat next to Ulfur and Roren next to Ilia. Everyone was seated except for a mysterious empty chair across from Mayor Bo, and all but him gazed at it with an expression of wonder.

"Is there someone to be joining us, Father?" Ilia asked quietly.

Mayor Bo opened one eye at her in response and a silent conversation passed between them. He returned to his meal thereafter, saying not another word, while Ilia instantaneously spoke to her betrothed with flighty, cheerful movements. Zelda could see directly through their false actions. She wiped away at a stain near the corner of her mouth and stared openly, disbelieving such awkward acting. As her gaze shifted to the empty chair again, Link's face flashed before her eyes. She stifled a gasp. Had he come overnight? Did Mayor Bo know he would return today?

Just as she was about to accuse him discreetly, a knock came at the door.

"I got it," Ilia said. She bounced forth from her chair, but as Zelda watched her walk to the door, she saw Ilia's legs wobble from nervousness and her face pale with dread, yet a smile sat tremulously on her pink lips—wide and shaking in incredulous excitement. Such conflicting emotions displayed on the girl's face hastened Zelda to believe that the visitor could only be who Ilia feared and adored.

"Link!"

Zelda's eyes flickered to the doorway where a tall silhouette stood before Ilia's small frame. His form was terrible—slumped and bent like broken twigs—and his long limbs carelessly hung by his sides, heavy, dense, and loose like drooping mud pounded endlessly by the rain. As soon as the door opened wide like the mouth of an unknown cave, fear struck him at all sides—he stiffened and walked carefully forward where the candlelight illuminated his sallow skin and did no justice for his lively features. Zelda looked on and heard her heart fall. The goddesses played a cruel trick on them; he did not look alive; instead, he had the air of a stranger who was reanimated from the grave with his sad smile and dull eyes.

Though he looked sickly, he covered it well with a quick hop in his step and a smile that never moved. He was faking happiness, she knew that, and it saddened her for it was she who insisted on his return and it was she who commanded him to reacquaint with his old village, and it broke him to pretend to be someone he was not and something he despised. Yet he did it. It pained him, but he was strong . . . and she revered him for that.

Mayor Bo stood in respect for the Hero of Twilight, but soon guffawed and approached him with eager grins. He patted his back as if Link were his son and gestured for him to sit at the suspiciously empty chair. Confusion passed on Link's face at the sight; nonetheless, he did as he was told and sat down.

Zelda peered and noticed Link sat at the edge of his seat like a frightened bird ready to flap its wings and take flight. His hands clawed at his lap. She glanced up. So far he did not speak a word to either Mayor Bo or Ilia, but he continued to smile, laugh, and nod, and such a forced disposition inflicted pains to Zelda's already wounded guilt.

She was trapped and suffocated as their merriment whirled around her like dry winds in a field. She watched on with silence. He was good at it, she observed. He was good at pretending. Each movement smooth and believable like a cool wave of air, each sound that left his lips hit the right notes, forcing Mayor Bo's ridiculous grin to widen and Ilia's squeal of joy to louden. The rise and fall of his breath were even, but that did not reassure Zelda that he was calm in such a bizarre situation. She was close enough to see his pulse beat mercilessly beneath the thin skin on his neck like a drumbeat gone insane.

"Link," she murmured.

No one could hear her above Roren's barks of laughter and Ulfur's raised voice turning higher at the punchline of some joke. Link did not look at her then; instead he focused his attention on Ulfur's joke like everyone else.

She shifted uncomfortably in her chair and bit on her cheek, attempting to distract her mind by counting the number of sesame seeds on her sweet cake that sat lopsided in a sea of nectar.

Something cold caressed her hand. She flinched only a little, not intending to attract attention, but it did not matter since everyone listened only to Ulfur's crazy self, which had come to a surprise to all since they assumed he was person who frowned upon fun and lived to work.

Her eyes flashed to the culprit, and a wry grin settled on his face as he continued to feign amusement at Ulfur's sense of humour. She could not help but smile back at Link, feeling his fingers mingle with hers and tickle her palms.

They were like this for a while until Ilia rose from the table and excused herself. She gathered all the nearby empty plates and walked promptly to the sink to wash the dishes. At once, Link's comfort left her hand and went to Ilia's. He approached her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, and whispered something in his ear. She laughed.

Roren did not seem fazed by their intimacy. He glanced their way briefly, smiled, and went back to conversing with Ulfur on the matters of sword technique.

Zelda returned to her meal, surprised to see that it had disappeared. Had she been eating all this time? She could not recall.

"Excuse me," she said, rising, "but I am going to make a delivery and go out for a morning walk."

"May I join you, Your Grace?" Ulfur asked.

She shook her head. "I need to enjoy the winter air myself."

She snapped at him; she did not intend to, but it came out of her cold and menacing like harsh winds from the north. He grew quiet at that. She grew silent too, and furrowed her brows in a sign of guiltiness. It was so unusual for her to be cranky, but she refused to see the source of the problem; it was not the overwhelming sadness that came from the bottom of her gut and crawled its way up to her throat, closing it and rendering her breathless. No, it must be the changing of the light and nothing more.

She grabbed the basket of winterberries she forgot to give to Talo's parents last day. The little red spheres stared up at her from the bottom, glaring angrily against the woven white birch.

Roren handed her his fur cloak hanging by his chair, reassuring her that he had another in the closet. It felt heavy like a burden on her bare shoulders, but she squared them, tilted her chin skywards, and walked out the door without turning back.

When the door shut behind her, the warmth of the fire was gone. The calming murmurs disappeared. But among them, Link and Ilia's laughter swam through the cracks of the door and up into the greyish clouds of morning. Their voices did not give her comfort.


	12. Truth in Lies

.

* * *

**~ 12 ~**

**Truth in Lies**

_A true queen does not shed tears, but shows her compassion through actions alone._

* * *

"Link?" voices streamed like spilled ink carried with the wind. Whispers, murmurs, gossip—all swirled about. Rumours piled high, steamed beneath the surface, vented, burst. Was he truly here? Did he truly killed a fish thousands of feet long, slayed monstrous yetis, and fought the restless dead? What was it like living in the shadows? Did he have any scars, souvenirs? He saved the princess, but did he get intimately close with her like the romantic tales in legends?

Once the Ordonians laid eyes on him, they swarmed around like hungry fish fetching for satisfaction. They did not want the truth. The truth, to them, was a more of a tale of horror rather than a legend they sought for—it was a tale where people got hurt, where Link was mortal, where hope was far into the darkness, shrouded and suffocated and beyond looking for. They wanted vivid tales of bravery and heroism with a man who was fearless and strong yet compassionate and loved. Link fabricated such wants for them, but he did not go far off from the truth, Zelda thought. There were undertones there, but what the people did not wish to hear had been omitted. She was glad because if their ears ever did hear such gruesome imagery, they would be fearful of Link and scramble away from bloodied hands. He was once a young goat herder but now he was a hero with burdens to bear. If they saw the slightest change in him, life would drastically fall a part—one member of a close knit community lost would be like a brick missing in the bottom of a foundation.

Zelda listened in on their conversations most days. She would pretend to walk around the village, view the stream, or meditate nearby but not too conspicuously. When the weather was too cold for such outdoor wanderings, the people flocked to Mayor Bo's house where Link stayed at, a situation that was unnecessary since he did have his own house, but Link complained of the broken roof that let cold drafts through, thus Mayor Bo eagerly acted host for the Hero of Twilight himself.

Families secretly scheduled days of visitations. All agreed only one day a week as they usually ran into Link whenever he ventured out, which was surprisingly often because he went with Roren to make repairs to the old treehouse.

On the morning in which they discussed such plans, Link raised the topic first.

"What do you suppose you will do with my old place?" asked he.

Not wanting to disappoint the Hero of Twilight, Roren replied with an appropriate response that was both quick and polite, "Whatever you demand, Hero of Hyrule, and it will be given to you immediately."

Bewilderment crossed Link's face at such an esteemed title, and Zelda, who was surprised at such an honourable mention, remained quiet as she watched the transaction take place.

He smiled timidly. "I will leave soon, thus I would wish to see the building taken care of before I do so. If that is too much to ask, tell me and you can work at your own pace." By now, Link got used to these honorifics, but he took them in as if he was forced fed food he did not want to chew—tasteless, unnecessary and tedious; but if he wanted to continue living by Zelda's side, he would have to swallow with a pleasant smile as if he were holding a secret.

* * *

She did not see him since he revealed himself to the village. Too busy playing the hero, Link had conversed with all the citizens each day, and whenever someone left with a wide grin on his face, a new person showed up demanding entertainment, and being the compassionate hero, Link eagerly weaved tall tales for all. Zelda would sometimes stay around listening, but she would be out of view, and whenever he spoke in whispers, she could not detect his suave words.

On one such particular day, she sat behind a wide tree trunk by the running stream. She read a letter from Auru that kept her updated in the country's affairs. So far, it looked good. Things were being built and repaired, and there were plenty of natural resources to go around.

She leaned back, her head touching the hard wood behind her, and she folded the letter into squares. She sighed, twisting it into her hands. It had been a long time since Link last wrote to her or spoke to her. She did not want to fret over their friendship. If he needed space—if he wanted to avoid her, she would allow that. She understood that he needed to play the part of the hero before leaving with her, and perhaps they could be alone at the next destination, which was surely going to happen soon now that five days had passed since that peculiar breakfast . . . an event which shed a new light on Link. He did not desire attention, but everyone gave it to him anyway; he detested compliments, but they fed it to him on a silver spoon.

"How did you kill Ganondorf?" Talo innocently asked from behind.

Zelda froze in place. Such a blunt question could be answered in a single sentence, but to her, after witnessing such a loss of life, she thought the explanation should be a long one with minimal descriptive details and more of a respectful elegy for the dead; it did not matter to her that the man who died had sought out vengeance against the whole kingdom . . . against _her_. Forgiveness, a core part of her very nature, had to be given to all no matter evil deeds. Forgiveness was a kindness and kindness was a cure to repressed darkness.

She parted her lips to speak, and the single word that rolled out was thick and heavy. "He—"

"His death was memorable," Link said, his tone full of grief, but he said this in a manner that threatened to end the topic.

"Oh," disappointment filled Talo's voice, and silence befell Link, who made no amends to improve Talo's happiness. And, as all children do, Talo chose to speak what was on his mind, thirsting to satisfy his natural curiosity and the boyish desire for malice. "I heard you had to fight the princess. Is that true?"

Zelda felt sick to her stomach, but she could not move, she could not speak aloud, and she could not intrude upon them. So she sat there, listening, nauseated.

"Yes," he said at last.

"Well, how did it go?"

"It is not for the ears of a child."

Anger, loud and full of vehemence, exploded forth. "I am not a child!" cried Talo.

The soft crunch of footfalls filled the crisp air. The footsteps stopped. A small giggle, high-pitched and girlish followed. "You are taller than Link at that age," a sweet, melodious voice sang.

Silence.

"Ilia," Link said. His voice wavered with astonishment, but what for? Zelda could not see.

"Link," came the coy reply, short and playful like a staccato note.

Talo gave a hearty farewell after sensing such an awkward atmosphere. Fast footfalls left with him as snow flew and landed on her lap, but Zelda neither cared nor noticed. She listened hungrily into the conversation like a starved man—desperate, despaired, desolate.

"We finally have a chance alone," said Ilia. "The last few days have been hectic, no?"

Link said nothing. Zelda imagined him nodding solemnly, as he always did whenever he felt like he had no words for an answer, or when he had so many thoughts running through his head that his mouth could not keep up, thus he could not articulate concisely of what he wished to say. If she could see his face, she could take a glimpse of what he thought of everything, of everyone, and of Ilia. Did he love her still? She did not think so, for he had verbally professed her as more of a friend than anything else. But there was, of course, the chance of old love blooming. She hoped that Ilia had fidelity, that she was loyal to her fiancée.

Zelda glanced behind the trunk. Ilia was beautiful today. She dressed in a plain outfit that emphasized her delicate, fairy-like features, and shined her large, green eyes. A gap spaced the two apart, and Ilia walked cautiously to him like a winter nymph approaching summer's furious heat. Hands rose as if to capture Link's reddened cheeks in their thin fingers, but they fell, giving up on such a hope. Bashfully, she turned away and gave a heavy sigh.

"You have been busy so much that you have forgotten to visit those who are dearest to you." She hesitated, and then swiftly turned on her heel to face him, eyes set aflame. "You still love me. I can tell," she accused, but she did not do it with anger or ardency, but stated it as a fact.

There was a slight pause because she waited for an objection, but when Link did not suffice her predictions, she continued on with an air of maturity.

"Although you deny it," she continued, "your avoidance of me since the beginning is enough to betray your intentions. If you were the same Link as I had remembered, you would greet me with open arms, and we would most definitely be inseparable as always. However, you returned a changed man. Is it for the best? I think not."

The cool manner in which she had retained collapsed. The last few words she spoke of trembled, and tears streaked her face.

"Tell me!" she said suddenly, refusing the sobs to cover her voice. "Why are you reluctant in seeing me? And do not think of me as selfish, for I see that you have ignored Rusl and even poor Colin. The dear boy sees you more as a hero. Is that not what you want? To _not _be the hero everyone expects you to be? If anyone is selfish, it is _you—_"

"Enough!" he cried.

Whimpers swirled with the cold wind. Uncontained sobs filled the quiet void of the day's sky. Heavy boots crushed the frail snow, falling apart to pave a path for its walker.

Ilia gasped, her breaths loud and fast until, moments later, they turned even as her wails quieted, muffled.

"Is it obvious that I am suffering?" he mumbled.

She said nothing and nodded.

"I suppose it is obvious in the eyes of you. But then again, you have always read my mind like an open book, which does not in the slightest make any sense because I have changed."

"If you changed—," a sniffle, the shuffle of cloth on cloth, "then how do I know all your actions have been false? Why do you behave in this absurd way, Link? What do you hope to accomplish? Fame? Love? . . . Distance?"

"I—" he started, caught off guard. "I do not how to tell you in an honest way that neither hurts you nor sour your opinion on me."

"Whatever opinion I have of you, it will always be the highest no matter what you tell me. So, Link, spit the secret your tongue withholds!"

Feet shuffled and crunched against snow. "I cannot control how you react, but in my mind's eye, I can see that I will fall out of favour. Do you wish to end our friendship in this way? Is that what you wish?"

No response. Zelda imagined Ilia nodding.

"Very well. If that is what you want, I am yours to bequeath it," he said. He sounded annoyed in being forced to speak, but he truly wanted Ilia to know what ran through his head, although he did not like to admit such a thing because he knew it would run through her like a blade of cold steel. "I do not want the fame. I want nothing of it. Fame is like power. Once a man has a taste of it, he is drunk into oblivion of blissful ecstasy. Nothing can bring him down because he is the absolute; no one can dethrone him. Alas, that is what goes on in the mind of an esurient fool. People willingly obey to his every command, but behind his back, they plot sweet vengeance to being treated like common dirt. Fueled by hate and bound together, an angry mob surrounds him to overthrow such ignorance."

Passion ebbed and flowed throughout his words, the volume of such restrained words raising high at times of anger until the birds flapped out of trees, and lowering at times of sadness where he could not be heard. What he said next was a haunting lament,

"I do not wish to become a power-hungry monster. That is the least of what I desire. To rise above everyone else, to be affluent and thus entitled to such complacent claims, is the very opposite of my nature. And when I did the right thing—when I saved Hyrule—I did not do it to gain fame or riches . . . I did it because I felt _obliged _to do it at first, but then I knew it was my destiny. I did not know what would happen after I played the role of the hero. I thought that would cease, but that is not the case: here I am, still catering to people's need of a figure to look up to—to admire and emulate, to dream of becoming. What they do not know is that I am still human—I still have emotions and dreams of my own. To be a hero is certainly not one of them. To me, that phase has come and gone. I need to understand who I am besides a hero. It frustrates me that I have been branded so much as one; the title _Hero of Twilight _has embedded itself into my skull and will never detach."

"If you do not want to be the role of a hero, return to your old life. Stay here. Watch the community grow, teach Colin how to ride horses, pass your wisdom down. Stay. Please," Ilia said, voice heavy with sobs.

"I have," he gulped, "other arrangements."

"What are they? Is it to serve under the banner? I hope you do not do such a thing, for a soldier's life is never a pleasant one. With bloodshed and slaughter—"

"Hyrule is in a time of peace and prosperity."

"Yes, perhaps in the future, but as of now, we are in _poverty," _she countered.

Then, he spoke an ardent vow. A vow which not only sparked concern in Ilia, but flared Zelda's heart in bubbling affection:

"I have faith in the queen."

At this, Ilia grew silent while she contemplated a proper response. "Link . . ." she began with warmth, but realizing that she could not persuade him, she immediately succumbed to a tone ice cold to awaken him from his sleep walking state. "You are besotted with the queen."

"No—"

Pain clutched at Zelda's heart at such a brisk denial. She wanted to leave. She wanted to get out of here before the conversation fled into words that would tear down her walls and force her stability to rot into dirt.

Ilia continued callously. "I see it whenever you are around her. I saw it at your camp grounds, I saw the way you held her hand at breakfast, and the way she grows uneasy in your false charms. And it is so clear she is besotted to you as well, for why else is she going through so much trouble to ease you into comfort? Why the attention onto _you?_ It is something more than your role as a hero. She cares for you as you care for her. Whenever you are around her, your face lights up like a clear morning sky, and, since Her Grace has such a rigid expression, I can finally see her eyes shine with affection."

"You are mistaken."

"Do not deny it, dear Link, for it is pointless and so blatant that it rings true to the saying of 'love blinds the lovers and binds them to denial.'"

He growled, agitated at her crude remarks. "She is nothing to me but a queen," he countered, "and if you are so hopeful in seeing love to spark between us, then you are ignorant—"

"How sweet," she drowned him out, "the hero saves Her Grace once again!"

He avoided her playful quips, "—and a dreamer near the edge of a dangerous cliff."

"He dashes in with sword and shield to save her from danger's harm!" she cried, and then gleeful laughter erupted. "You go further than the average man to defend a mere a queen. You do not view her like most. Is she becoming more than a figure to revere and obey, hmm?"

There came no response for quite a while. Zelda felt flames lick the nape of her neck and curl its way to her cheeks, setting them in a fiery red.

Ilia continued along, finally reaching her point in her severe interrogation: "I think _you _are the dreamer who swims in dangerous waters. She is a queen. Whatever hope you have in pursuing a relationship with her," she held up her hand to prevent Link from interrupting, "whether it be friendship or romance, is futile. Do not let the heart lead you astray from your true path. If you are a hero, act like one, live like one—commit to honesty and integrity. If you are the old Link—the Link that I love—be wary for heartbreak, for that is where you will head if your relationship with _her _continues. Though you deny infatuation, it will sneak up on you in the shadows, snatch you up, and bring you into darkness, suffocating and holding you until you feel like you cannot scream or breath."

The wind lifted her voice and brought it to Zelda's ears, a haunting explanation for Ilia's fluctuating feelings to her and Link.

"That is what it is like to fall in love with someone you can never have."

Suddenly realizing that Ilia had been (and perhaps was still) in love with him, Link started, grabbing a hold of a fleeing Ilia.

"Let go!" she hissed, quieting her voice for the wind was an eavesdropper.

A grunt, the sound of ripped cloth, a stifled landing in the snow. Delicate footsteps danced on white sheets.

"Ilia!" he finally choked out, but by then, he was too late. She had fled. And all who could hear him were the grey sky that hung overhead like a condemning god, the bare trees that acted as a sympathetic audience, and himself as his voice reverberated into empty vastness.

After moments passed, he got off the frigid ground. The sound of snow crushed by boots faded in the distance.

Zelda was alone. The snow fell sparsely and slowly, and the cold left a chill through her warm cloak.

* * *

**~::-x-::~**

* * *

Everything had changed when her mother fell ill.

Gone were the days of laughter. Gone were the days of sitting, watching, listening. Her mother spoke in that voice only a poised woman could master: a high, smooth voice that was ice against glass at times of anger, tempting challenge, brave in the face of danger, but smooth and sibilant as the silken wind between the hushed trees when she was herself, calm and collected.

Zelda remembered when the news fell to her ears. Her father told her that her mother was ill in a voice so uneven, it sounded like the clashing waves during a storm at sea. He stood behind her as she gazed out the window watching the trees move and sway, dancing with the spring winds. She looked at his reflection, translucent and wavering; stony-faced, bleary-eyed, and red-nosed, he was not the father she once knew—happy with eyes full of light and a stance exuding confidence. He was still, slumped, defeated.

_Your mother . . . _

She hated how he addressed her. Was he not her wife? Was he not the queen he had chosen, fallen in love, besotted?

_. . . is unwell. _

At that the world dimmed. The birds stopped chirping. The green leaves looked muted, encased in a mist that blurred and suppressed its vividness. The sky, too, looked bleak. Once blue, it was now grey. When the sun shined giving its warmth and comfort, she shuddered and shielded her eyes. She did not want consolation. She did not want comfort because the only person who could ever give her comfort was her mother.

But she was dying. Zelda knew that. The way her father desperately attempted to explain the situation, his eager hand movements trying to catch Zelda into his arms for sympathy, his voice high-strung losing his once dominant composure . . . he gave it all away.

Her mother was dying.

His ramblings filled the air all around her, but she heard nothing. She felt nothing. _Numbness._

The next thing she remembered was the sad kick of the foot, the slow creak of the door, a weary hand going up to brush the dark hair on his head. And just like that, his presence disappeared. Through the reflection, she watched him leave.

She recalled he looked regretful in those last few moments when their lives changed.

But regret of what? Nothing had happened. She had not make a sense of the forlornness all around him, the sigh of impending doom and the air of a man who thought life meant nothing.

With hindsight, Zelda knew. He regretted what would become of them, father and daughter. He was too busy running the country, leaving her to fend for herself. He stopped playing with her, stopped smiling at her, looked at her with tears in his eyes. She looked too much like her mother, he thought. She acted like her, too.

They both experienced anguish in the aftermath of her mother's death: the king because he lost the love of his life, and the princess because she lost a mother and a father that day.

She was unfamiliar with the circumstances. Confused, even. Why had her father stopped loving her? She did not know at the time, and so she foolishly stumbled in like a blind man groping for past memories that were gone forever, that could never be repeated. She tried so hard to reinvent the past.

At ten she was too old for porcelain dolls, but that did not stop her in attempting to recreate a fond scene; dolls held in small hands paralleled by larger ones, the firelight flickering constantly and casting strange lights and shadows, quiet laughs, exaggerated, comedic voices chiming.

When her mother could not get out of bed and could not see any visitors, the young princess gathered a handful of dolls. They were beautiful and handcrafted with real hair curled and implanted carefully into the painted china, dresses made of silk and lace, elaborate designs sprawled all around. One part did not look expensive and pretty as was expected. It was their eyes, she thought. Their glass eyes stared blankly, dead and numb.

Up the stairs she went, down the cold corridor with no windows and an endless mountain of stone. Footsteps echoed. Torches blazed through the night. She reached the tall double doors looming like giants. Cautiously, she raised her hand about to knock, hesitating, thinking, doubting. Her father was upset. She wanted to cheer him up even if someone as little as her could do nothing for the large amount of stress he went through, she could at least try. She knocked. A loud bang clashed. She flinched.

Long streams of curse words, furious thumps of rage, a large smack on the door, glass shattering, a cold pool of liquid formed around her feet, the stench of yeast and barley floated through the air. At long last, silence. The cold quiet alarmed her even more than the anguished cries. A sigh with undertones of worry, sadness, sorrow. Then came the sobbing, weak and pitiful, the lowest point that made one feel despicable, miserable, worthless.

She backed away with soft footfalls. She ran when she reached the bottom of the stairs, ran as quickly as she could into her rooms, flinging the doors open, passing through the sitting rooms and into the comfort of the bed. But even then the covers did not offer her warmth.

When morning came, the dolls gazed at her with their too-still eyes. She grabbed them. She threw them into the trash.

* * *

The wind flowed through the high windows and whispered its soothed words. The cold breeze pushed the white curtains in, taking shape and form like ghosts, visible with its linen clothing, watching, moving, alive. It escaped its bondage, letting the curtains fall slowly to the ground, and wrapped around Zelda, comforting her. She was not alone in this hour of need. It filled the room, silently observing.

Her silk slippers slid across the polished floor. Legs shaking, hands trembling, eyes threatening to spill tears, she glided forth, afraid she would fall on the thin ice she skated on. The curtains billowed and flew, concealing the bed in the middle of the room. White cloth caressed her face. She wiped it away.

She made it on the verge of sobbing. But she had to keep quiet, and if she did not, they would take her away, her father would punish her. _No visitors allowed, _they said. _Not even you, Princess._

How she hated the title. The title that made her sound childish, inept, spoiled. She wanted to be the queen; the queen who talked to her guards, slipped the pages sweet treats, conversed with her maids, a queen who listened to her people, smiled and waved genuinely, nodded and responded, laughed and lived. She wanted to be like her mother.

She brushed the curtains aside and peered into what she was hidden and unseen.

A woman ashen as milk lied on her back, head tilted skywards, eyes closed with muted veins flowing beneath them as they fluttered, dreaming. Thin, spindly arms rested against her sides, the bones jutting out like rocks in a graveyard. Cheeks caved inwards, atramentous bags hung above, cheekbones protruded, lips cracked.

Zelda placed a hand on her mother's cheek, saddened, furious, confused. It was cold, like the forgotten ashes of a long-gone fire. She remembered a time when her mother had sun trapped beneath her skin, radiating like a candle aflame. Her laugh was loud, her smile bright with pink lips framing them, her red hair rivalling marigolds. Now her hair had lost its colour, faded like neglected paintings; it was a pale grey with few strands of gold left remaining.

Zelda looked down, trying desperately not to cry. She failed, the warm tears cascading down her cheeks like waterfalls. She sniffled quietly, covering warm lips with timid fingers.

Coolness encased her other hand, wrapped around it like an embrace. Zelda looked up, attempting to see pass the blurriness. She wiped away her tears, gulped down a sob, and smiled, happy to see her mother awake.

"Zelda . . ." The words came out thickly, as if she had not talked in weeks. "You are here," she attempted a smile. The skin on her lips stretched and cracked, bright blood pooled in the small trench of broken flesh.

"Mamma," she started, stopped, carefully bent down to hug her mother, gently, slowly. She stood there, leaning over, letting the tears fall onto the embroidered pillow. She was unfamiliar to the hug, the person beneath her too thin, her bones poking her into her flesh, threatening to spill blood. She missed the warmth, the plump arms around her, the softness she cried into. "Why are you sick? Will you get better?"

Silence filled the room. Hands rippled through her hair, down and up, the fingers tangling themselves into loose strands. "I do not know if I will get better," she said at last, quiet with shame. Shame of what? Leaving her? Lying?

Zelda knew she would not get better; it was written in her mother's dull eyes. Life had been sucked out of her body, leaving only a skeleton behind with thin skin and a soul trapped in exhaustion, fear, and grief.

"You should not be in here," she said. "Do you wish to suffer the same fate as me?" Painstaking coughs shook her bony shoulders; loud sputters and strong shakes, the coughing did not cease until minutes later. By then, she sounded as if she were choking between coughs. She gasped for air desperately but her body convulsed attempting to get poison out of her lungs.

"It does not matter when I or you pass on from this life to the next," Zelda responded hoarsely, "for in the end, you and I will be together."

Her mother squeezed her hand.

"Live life until the then," she wheezed, "do not be trapped with you duties as queen, and let no one hinder you in what you desire or lead you into a path of weariness." She smiled, her lips quavering. "Never forget that I love you, that I am proud of your accomplishments, mistakes, and all. And remember: a true queen does not shed tears, but shows her compassion through actions alone. Do acts of kindness; do not sit idly by as the world enters self-destruction."

With nervous hands, Zelda clasped her mother's cheeks and kissed her on the forehead.

"I will, Mamma," she said, tears blurring her sight. She wiped them away and then tucked the sheets around her mother's small frame. "Good night."

* * *

**~::-x-::~**

* * *

Her basket emptied, Zelda sat near the edge of Faron Spring watching the water churn below the surface of thin ice. It was a film of natural glass, and when examined closely, Zelda saw the trapped air bubbles and the small scratches beneath the transparent layer. Her finger tested the flimsiness, the cold, hard, bite of the ice. Shards caved in, clear drops of water jumped high and landed on her cheek. She flinched, startled at the suddenness of it, surprised it collapsed so early and so soon.

To her, it felt like the future of their friendship.


	13. Ilia's Farewell

**.**

* * *

**~ 13 ~  
**

**Ilia's Farewell**

* * *

_You still hold a place in her heart not as a lover but as a friend and a long lost link to a memory of happier times. And that applies to the entire village._

* * *

Amidst the shrouded forest covered in slivers of watery moonlight, he returned to her with soft footfalls that brushed against the threaded needles of the forest floor. The wind stood still, letting the fluttering leaves stop their ghostly sigh, and the nightly sounds of constant crickets and the cries of bullfrogs ceased to be. All that existed were twigs snapping and dried leaves crackling, and the erupted tears that burst forth from her—cries that bounced through the thick walls of trees and bounded high and laid to rest with the canopy of glittering stars.

She was well aware of the presence behind her, but she did not care if he saw her in her raw form. She was not vain at all. No, she did not care how he saw the tears streaked her porcelain skin in angry red, how her eyes that were once a bright blue had turned bloodshot, and how the smoothness of her mouth shrivelled with anguish. Let him see, she thought. Let him see truth.

In the stillness of night, she sat among the decay of flowers and lifted her face away from folded hands and turned his way, allowing the tears and snot to blot her cheeks and upper lip. He stood in shadows for moments that stretched forever.

He moved too quickly, not allowing the moonlight's silver kiss against his skin as he bounded to her. Strong arms wrapped around her shoulders, pulled her in, and then lifted her high into the air, letting the forest swirl around and around until light blended with shadows to form an infinite cascade of smudged blues against a canvas of black.

Slowly, he let her slide down and her feet had once again found solid ground. Cheek crushed against his beating heart, she smiled and sighed, enjoying his warmth that enveloped her and held her close as his rugged breaths matched her own.

A gentle hand wiped away her tears and then tilted her chin upwards, forcing her to look at him in the pale light. Before she could see his bright eyes, before she could even speak, a tender kiss landed on her parted lips and stole her words, transforming them into a silent oath.

_I love you._

* * *

Zelda awoke in the golden light of midafternoon. She lied in bed with eyes closed as she relished the dream as a memory full of nostalgia. She loved his soft touch, his beating heart, his soothing voice. She loved every sensuous part about him as his lips met hers and sent shivers up and down her spine. Then she jolted, coming to realizations of her thoughts.

Dust motes scattered as she threw off her covers and touched the floor with bare feet. She rubbed the blurriness away from her eyes and did not get up from the bed to do her usual morning routine. Instead, she sat alone and watched as the gilded light poured forth from the tiny, barred window like honey from a jar that dispersed evenly throughout the room in golden mist.

The dream, although pleasant and wonderful, had awakened as a festering nightmare at the bottom of her heart and at the back of her mind. Her stomach felt strangely empty as she imagined his lips against hers, and her mind felt exhausted and anxious as she imagined him by her side with a clam touch around her shoulders.

She threw such thoughts out of her head, willed herself to forget the dream, and decided fervently to never let her mind wander down that path again. But at the very thought of denying its existence, the dream encased her in its sombre greys, wrapping her up in a chain of guilt one after the other, and forced her to remember the snow white day where she purposely listened on in a conversation not meant for her ears. Crimson heat glowed on her cheeks as she remembered Link's dismal voice and Ilia's bitterness, and then her mind traced back to haunting words Ilia had said to him, words that dimmed her world_: She is a queen. Whatever hope you have in pursuing a relationship with her_, _whether it be friendship or romance, is futile. _

She drew to her full height and gazed at the cold circlet of gold resting on the night stand. She wore it every day, grew accustomed to its heaviness on her forehead. Sometimes, it was so attached to her that she slept with it on or forgot to remove it when taking a bath.

She looked away, not wanting to stare any longer at its ostentatious appeal, and dressed herself in the borrowed clothes Ilia had left on her seat. They were not fancy as the dresses Zelda had waiting in her luggage. They were plain with minimum embellishments and drab colours, yet when she wore it with the circlet, she already looked out of place, looked as if she were too eager to disappear once and for all, but that horrible golden _thing _proclaimed loudly of her status and of her whole character, immediately wiping away any hopes of building her own character and showing others her true self. No, to them she was only a queen, and since she was the queen, she should act like one and remove the fatuous notion of connecting with her people. She could not, not after hearing what Ilia had said to Link. He was a hero, thus people looked to him as a hero and nothing more; she was a queen, thus the people looked to her as a queen and nothing else.

She was not a beggar queen, she realized. So why did she dress in rags? Should she not wrap herself in her own status to enforce respect and dignity to the crown? To maintain the royal image? What was she thinking, frolicking about with commoners, pretending she was one of them? Ilia had deceived her into thinking they were friends, but they were far from it, and she was far off from becoming friends with Link. Anger coursed through her veins. How could she have been so foolish into thinking such? Kindness had fallen her into contrition, and at such remorse, she could feel nothing but spite.

Instantly, she rummaged through the abandoned baggage in the dark corner of the room and pulled out the first dress her hand caught on. All were beautiful, handmade and very suitable for weather, perhaps even more suitable than the thin cloth and wool the Ordonians wore through all seasons.

The fabric of the purest blue fell through her fingers like a cascade of water, its silk caress cool to the touch. It was a simple dress, but it had a certain grandeur in such simplicity. Typically, elaborate accessories like a complexly designed tapestry would adorn the base of the skirt, and rich jewels and precious metals usually wrapped around her waist or collarbone. Travelling lightly, she did not pack such useless items, and instead only carried one piece of jewelry with her: silver ringed earrings accented with gold triangular prisms seated directly in front of two ancient Crimson Loftwing feathers. It was a cherished gift—a long lost family heirloom recently found— and she wore them every day along with her circlet.

Feeling refreshed in usual attire, she ventured out, attempted to leave the dream and Ilia's words behind her, and instead did what she normally did: she focused on today's task at hand. That was what allowed her to move forward and push such negativity out of her soul.

The letters she received from Auru came quick by the postman, and Roren would read them and then report its contents to her, and then later he would leave the letters on the desk in the main lobby where Mayor Bo graciously offered for her to use freely. And that she did.

Immediately, she set to work. She caught up on Auru's letters. Upon seeing the cream coloured parchment, Link's letters bolted through her mind. In the feelings came—feelings that let her heart fly into her throat and left a bottomless pit in her stomach—but as soon as they had appeared, they vanished. She focused on Auru's writing, writing which updated her on the country's standing and of news from nearby kingdoms and nations, valuable information which she could not process fully. She read it, but after reading, she could not fathom her own opinions on such economical topics of Hyrule's unpleasant state after the war. But no matter, Hyrule was on the cobblestoned road of recovery instead of a dirt road, and that was enough to cease any worries to develop in her gut.

She called Ulfur to her table, deciding him to be a reliable comrade in royal affairs. She also chose him because she unconsciously felt a connection to him. He did not grow here as a young lad. He was from Castle Town and was as much of an outsider as her.

"Remind Roren to write to Auru this evening. I shall do a final sweep of Ordon's progress before we leave at dawn tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Ulfur's jaw dropped. It took him several seconds to clamp shut his gaping mouth. "Your Grace, are we not to leave in two days time?"

"We must make haste. Plans for that have been scrapped, and Ordon has made steady process in the week I have been here. I believe Roren is efficient in his doings," said she, putting away Auru's letters. Her stomach growled unexpectedly. She had forgotten to eat since the two hours she had been awake.

At such an observation, Ulfur blurted, "Mayor Bo went out to prepare smoked fish. He will be back any minute now."

The door clamoured open in loud protests. Ulfur flinched at the noise, and then immediately went to the enterer's aid by tugging furiously at the knob.

"Mayor Bo says that the door gets stuck in winter because of the cold," said he as he grunted. The door opened suddenly and hit Ulfur on the head, causing him to reel back and fall on his bottom. He looked up at the offender, intending to yell angrily at such rudeness, but the sneer on his face faltered as soon as he realized that it was Mayor Bo.

"Hello," he greeted Zelda and then looked at Ulfur sitting on the floor. "Why are you down there, lad?"

He did not wait for an answer and tore off his cloak with his free hand and plopped it on the coat stand in a commodious corner. With the grace of a moblin, he reposed in a sizeable armchair and kicked his boots off. They flung hard against the wall, and the slush and snow at the heels flew off explosively. Unfortunately, sleet flew onto Zelda's pristine blue dress and darkened the area like blood.

She walked to Mayor Bo with inquisitiveness. "Why are you in such a depressive state?" she asked, sitting down in a nearby chair to be at eye level with him. "What is it that throws you from your usual jovial self?"

He sighed, massaging his bald head with stubby fingers. "That lazy, worthless _twit _does not put in any input into my plans for Ordon. In fact, he _refuses _to cooperate, saying that gathering oil will lead to the destruction of the goddess's lands. What folly!"

"And who is this man you speak of?"

Mayor Bo snorted and crossed his arms. "That meek boy Coro! The one with the large afro and the lazy gestures . . . and that _voice_. So mellow, it just makes my blood boil!" he bellowed.

"Coro never lifts a finger, unless it is for himself."

Everyone turned to Link, surprised at his appearance. No one noticed he snuck in with quiet feet from the front entrance. Dressed in traditional Ordonian clothes instead of the tattered green hero's tunic he always wore, he looked completely different and renewed—innocent, even. But his eyes gave away the illusion. Dark shadows and red rims wrapped around them, hollowed eyes full of pain stared through hers, and they were bloodshot and watery, indicating that he had cried recently. But over what? she wondered. A pang of empathy stabbed her heart, and she almost cried out and joined him in his grief.

He cleared his throat, making everyone realize that an awkward silence lingered in the air.

"Yes!" Mayor Bo shouted. "Lazy as an imp, that one! I am surprised he can even uphold a business."

"I say that he just wants all the oil to himself. A monopoly is what it is," Ulfur added.

Zelda raised her hand amidst the clamour that Ulfur and Mayor Bo shot to and fro at each other like a battle of swords. Together, they laughed cruelly at Coro—from his immobile lifestyle to his disgusting hair that nested birds and, naturally, bird excrement. Their shouting ceased at once as her slender hand slowly rose to the air.

She nodded in thanks and spoke like she usually did—distant and formal, like a leader addressing a large crowd, though the only audience in this room were people she roomed and almost befriended with.

"Let us leave Coro alone. Let him have the oil. I doubt he will overprice his only profit," she said. "If there is a large demand for oil, Coro will not be able to keep up. Consequently, he will seek to enlarge his business, which will in turn allow Mayor Bo to be a part of the oil industry. Although it is miniscule now, I am certain it will boom in the coming years."

"So wait him out?" Mayor Bo said.

"It seems that it is the only option," she replied.

"Wonderful!" Mayor Bo jumped up from his comfortable seat, pumping his fist in the air which contained a greased package. "Sweet potato fries with smoked fish is for lunch. I fried those sweet potatoes up and smoked the fish myself, so forgive me if I smell a little delicious." He smacked his lips, already setting plates, forks, knives and cups on the table. He unfurled the thin cloth and placed the heavily salted foods on the plates.

"You are a brilliant cook," Zelda said as she seated herself, amused at his sudden change in moods. She now knew where Ilia got her fluctuating temperament from.

While everyone sat down and prepared to eat, Ilia came in from her room flushed and bleary-eyed. As soon as she crossed the threshold, her gaze landed on Link and his on hers. A brisk breakage of scrutiny ensued the second their eyes landed on one another. She glanced at him once, an expression so sad, so lonely, and so remorseful that it surprised Zelda at how strong Ilia was in holding back her tears. However, Zelda observed her snide and cold glares whenever Link exchanged eye contact with Ilia.

A pinkish hue coloured Ilia's round ears as she sat in the only chair available, which, to her, was unfortunately directly adjacent to Link's left hand side. Link awkwardly manoeuvred his elbow away from hers as he ate silently. The only voices that filled the air were Mayor Bo's rambunctious roars of glee and Ulfur's corresponding stentorian peals of laughter.

"Ilia," he whispered underneath the cover of Mayor Bo and Ulfur's loud guffaws, "can I speak to you in private?"

Glaring, Ilia prodded Zelda with a frown. "I would prefer it if we spoke it in a public place."

"Please," he added, "it would be shameful if we talked before an audience. It is a conversation that is ours only."

"I do not see why we should exclude the queen," Ilia insisted.

Zelda panicked. Did she know of her eavesdropping?

He gave an exasperated sigh, and then looked squarely into the eyes of Zelda, a look which showed great sorrow and embarrassment in what he was about to embark on. "If you want me to stay at Ordon,"—at this, Zelda's heart started—"if you want me to remain stagnated at a stage that I have long since passed, to return to the innocent goat herder and humble friend of yours, then I think you are simpler than I thought, nay, more _selfish _than I perceived you as."

"Link, I—," Ilia choked. Her flush turned ashen as she stared at him in horror at his words of disgust—of _contempt—_and gathering all her courage, she said coolly, "To speak in private is a better idea than before." A smile flashed across her heart-shaped face, and already she removed herself from the chair and walked into her temporary bedroom, not bothering to linger by the threshold.

Link hastily retreated, but not without the protests of Mayor Bo.

"Stay! Tell me how your meeting with Rusl and Colin went. And have you met Elina yet? She takes after her father." He grinned, but was met with a stony-faced expression by Link.

"They are good," he replied, and then made a hasty retreat into the wrestling room.

As she watched him go, she noticed clenched hands stiff by his side. She turned away, not wanting to be wrapped up in Link's affairs.

"So, Roren," she started as soon as he entered.

"Yes?" He sat down in Link's seat, which was across from her, and began eating his untouched plate.

"I have decided to leave for Kakariko Village early tomorrow morning. Whatever plans we have today are my final observations, so let us try to look at everything before my departure."

"Yes, Your Grace. Certainly! We need to visit the bridge—we have begun its frame already—and then we must see your friend's treehouse. Looking good if I do say so myself! But—," he leaned in and whispered, "That friend of yours is really bad at repairing things."

Imagining Link with tools in hand stubbing thumbs and fingers, she giggled. And then blushed, for she thought of a shirtless Link since builders, after all, went shirtless sometimes when building. She snapped out of it, thinking of winter, and paid attention to Roren's remarks.

"Coro is _not _thinking of sharing where he gets all his oil from, so I am afraid that idea is futile. So all we need to see is the bridge and the treehouse. Perhaps we will build a trading centre sometime in the future, or maybe some more houses for newcomers to move in. Who would not like the fresh air instead of that foul-smelling Castle Town with its elaborate sewer system?" He smiled. "No offense."

"None taken!" Ulfur said merrily from across the other end.

Zelda gobbled down her lunch as quickly and politely as she could, and after dabbing the corners of her mouth with a napkin, she got off from her seat. "Shall we leave now?" she asked, although she already knew the answer to the question. Time ran short, and she intended to use every last second of her day to proper use.

"Yes, Your Grace," he responded, also disposing himself from the chair. It was a good thing he was a quick eater. His plate looked licked clean.

"Wonderful," she mumbled, grabbing her coat, and off they went through the heavy, oaken door and through the winding pathway of Ordon, which they occasionally stopped momentarily to scrutinize Roren's past works. The windows were new, made of metal and glistened in the noon light, and looked strange next to the traditional wood and bark walls, frames and shingles of the houses.

"The other parts need an upgrade," she commented.

"Yes, Your Grace, but . . ." Roren trailed off, thinking for the right words.

"Queen Zelda!" Ulfur shouted. The front door slammed shut behind him as he ran forth in an oversized overcoat and long scarf that trailed behind him. He pinned his hat to his head with a free hand, and his other held a pen and a notebook. He caught up, slightly panting, and looked up with a dazed smile. "Let me record your observations for future use."

She nodded and told him what she and Roren conversed about.

"The houses can withstand another five decades, at a minimum, with constant repairs which I am certain the Ordonians know how to do themselves—with the exception of Link," Roren continued where they left off. "To rebuild an entire structure would be costly. Aesthetic appeal is insignificant in a village with fewer luxuries than those who live in Castle Town. I am sure you understand, Your Grace."

"Certainly," said she. "I would not want to waste resources on something inane as the looks of a building."

"However, if people do move here, especially those from Castle Town, they would want beautiful buildings since they are a fastidious sort of people. They will be fixated upon the look and quality of their house," Roren added.

"Yes, but you said if that were to happen, you would make a new line of houses over there, by the woods. Chop down the trees for lumber. Nothing goes to waste."

A large grin swept both of his cheeks, and his eyes glistened with amazement. "You have a brilliant mind—a mind fit for whipping up this country into shape!" he said with joy. "I am honoured to serve under you, Your Grace." He bowed.

Zelda blushed at his kind words and said nothing, only simply nodding in acknowledgement to his compliment. "Shall we see Link's house?" she said instead.

He jumped up with the zest of a monkey. "This way." He gestured and allowed her to walk first. Ulfur and he trailed behind her, conversing amongst themselves.

When they entered the small grove of Link's house, Zelda almost gasped. The house, which previously was in shambles, looked as good as new. The shingles on the roof were no longer crooked, the fallen tree branch was removed, several small twigs that encased the roof like vile vines were gone, revealing a clean, dark purple roof unembellished by moss and lichen. Ivy was scraped off from the walls and the roof, revealing the large, elaborate yet simple archway that encased the doorway in two large pillars. Overhead, an added banner of the Ordona province hung, kept upright by goat horns that were hung upside down. The tilted door, which was previously creaky and now straightened, opened smoothly as she entered.

She stared wide-eyed, mouth agape. The windows were fixed, covered with a screen to keep the pests out but allowed cool air to flow freely in. Shutters were installed, double-paned windows of glass opened easily and smoothly, letting hot air to remain indoors. She closed everything, not wanting winter's breath to decay the wooden floors and walls.

"A mix of old and new has met its ground," she said after fiddling with the windows. "Whence did this design came?"

Roren laid a hand on a curvaceous trunk of the tree's innards. Beside him, Ulfur scribbled fiercely into his notepad. "Castle Town architecture is the new and I did not do much to the traditional Ordonian architecture. It is amazing, how they mix nature with man, making it look peaceful and harmonious with Farore's beings."

"Amazing work! Could you, for the other buildings you are to create, make them modeled after this? It is of an ingenious, is it not? Such a design should not be lost in history."

"Your Grace," Roren stepped towards her, "if you wish for me to do such a thing, I would be honoured to. I will study it until I am a master."

"Thank you, Roren," she said coolly, and then went on investigating the house's structure. Nothing had changed that much in the inside. The ceiling was fixed and no more light pooled in the middle of the floor. The only thing that had changed were the windows and—

She gasped.

"What happened to the ladders?" she asked, thinking of Link. How would he get to sleep in his favourite spot?

"The ladders? Oh," he replied, "they were, uh, _removed _for the future construction of stairs."

Her heart slowed down. "Stairs? They will take up a lot of room if you install them."

"Yes, but I have an innovative design of my own." He gathered his collar and straightened his spine, a prideful glint alighting his eyes. "There will be stairs spiraling down, steps stacked upon one after the other in a circular motion, thus conserving room. My apologies for the ambiguous description, but if I had my blueprints, I could explain it to you fully."

"No need!" she said. "That is a wonderful idea. But is it not at the castle already?"

"Yes, but those stairs are large and bulky and are only in towers. I am just condensing them into a design fit for the mundane."

The door opened and Link walked in with his shoulders stiff and his eyes downcast, his hair an awful mess as if his hands twisted them into blond wisps. Sensing their presence, he glanced up at them, eyes still rimmed with red and exhaustion, but now they held a certain hardness. His brows lowered over his eyes, casting shadows and causing them to darken. His shoulders shuddered, convulsed, and he gulped, holding back whatever cries of anger he had saved to let out in his home.

Whatever feelings of indifference she had for Ordonians were vanished as she saw him there, alone with the cold winter wind on his back. He closed the door, straightened his spine, and let out a small smile in greeting to all. The role of the Hero resumed once again.

"Good afternoon," he said, taking his place near Zelda's side. Their hands were close to each other and their fingers almost touched.

She stepped away from him inconspicuously. "So, Roren, what else will you do to Link's house?"

"I was thinking of asking him to build a new table," Link said. "Possibly some matching sets of chairs, too, if you would. These ones," he picked up a stool, "are too small for me. When I sit down on them, my knees almost touch my chin. And I doubt that whoever will move in will be a midget."

Roren knocked on the wood, leaned on it and then measured it with a stick. "The table is in good condition, the chairs are, too. But if you insist on it, I can easily arrange it for you."

"And for goodness sake, please, _please _get me a proper bed. That old flimsy sleeping bag is gathering dust from the floor and hurts my back horribly. I would like a mattress, like Zelda's, made of cuckoo feathers. Those inane birds are vicious and deserve to be made into pillows."

"Link!" Zelda chided, shocked at his foul words. "Futons are a tradition in Ordon. The only person who uses a bed is Mayor Bo."

"_Mayor _Bo," Link echoed. "Do you not see? Only the ones with titles—Queen, Mayor—get to have the luxury of a large mattress to hold them as they sleep. The commoners get sleeping mats. I re_fuse_ to be part of that group." His hands flew to his chest, and he laughed in between words. "_I _am a _Hero. _I get what I want, and that is what _I _want."

"This tantrum ill suits you, Link," Zelda said, placing a placating arm on his shoulder.

He shrugged her off and crossed his arms across his chest. "Sleeping mats are for the wicked. Only sinister beings sleep on them."

Then it struck her. Link did not care about mattresses and futons. He care about Ilia. He would not confront the source of his rage in front of an audience, but he would allude to it because he _wanted _to rant and shout at the top of the lungs of how horrible Ilia was. One thing related to Ilia were futons because she slept on one, but it was a far stretch in relation. Nonetheless, Zelda noticed and accused him immediately to allow absolute wrath to rain down upon all, and to get out his emotions, which seemed to be the only possible way of calming him.

"Is this about Ilia?" she asked at once.

His face contorted into disgust and anger mixed into one. "Ilia is the scum of Hyrule!" he shouted. Zelda flinched at such bottled up anger, which was now finally being released in its true form. "Who does she think is telling me what to do? My _mother?_ Just recently she told me she was the selfless one risking her dignity by begging at my feet, begging me to stay. Why? I asked. Why? What purpose do I have here in this place that I have grown in, that I have become accustomed to that I have memorized every tree in the forest, every bird that sings in their branches, and of the fish that swim in the stream? I have already done my purpose here. I have grown from this fertile village, grown into a young man yearning for more adventure, yearning to do what I am meant to do, though I have accomplished that already, I know that I have more to do besides being the village sweetheart once again, that I am meant for bigger, better things. I do not know at the moment because I have not experienced Hyrule in its normality. And that is what I _want _to do. Nothing—_no one_—will restrain me. I am the master of my own destiny!" He banged his fist on the table with such force it splintered and crumbled within itself.

"I guess we will have to get you a new table," Ulfur piped in, hoping to cheer the tense atmosphere. No one laughed.

Link rubbed his hand and appeared to be unhindered by the pain. Then he spoke in a quiet, shattered voice. "You know what she said to me, before she left?" No one dared say a word. The window shutter flew open, clattering. "She told me she loved me. That she will always love me." His voice cracked, and he hid his eyes behind a curtain of hair. "She cried after I left, she said she almost killed herself after I disappeared. And she said she could not do it again, that she would kill herself this time after seeing me. What kind of person does that?" He looked up, staring pass their heads, anger once again striking his feral eyes. "Manipulates feelings to control others?" A pause. He contemplated if he should say anymore, but he collapsed, eyes tearing up, and he turned away in embarrassment. "She is no longer the person I remembered."

"What she says is true," Roren said, hoisting up two stools for both of them to sit on. Link took a seat, facing away from everyone as he sobbed in front of the empty fireplace, and buried his tears into sheltered hands. "When I arrived at the village, she put on a brave face, pretending that she never changed. She was not the same bubbly, friendly girl she used to be, but different. Inside she screamed; outside she laughed. It took a toll on her when she realized her mistake.

"She should not have let you go because, after you disappeared, the village went into shock. They were in denial first, saying you would never leave, and then they went frantically looking for you, throwing a search party into every nook and cranny in the woods. You evaded them, you broke them. Everything was so depressing in Ordon for weeks after they realized you would never come back. Of the worst were Rusl's family and Ilia's.

"Ilia took the hardest blow, seeing that she should have never let you go to cause this much heartbreak. It was unusual—eerie, even—to request for a swordplay with you, but you were not there, or to wake you up in the morning to herd goats only to be met with an empty window, or even to go to your house intending to take a horse ride with you only to be reminded that you were gone for good. They thought it was the last time, that since you left without warning, they could never give you a proper goodbye. So everyone was hurt by that. Now that you are here, you fill them full of hope for former glory days before the invasion." He sighed. "They want their innocence back. You are the one to deliver it since _you _were the one who pieced the community together. Without you, they are disconnected."

Shame overshadowed Link, and he collapsed, elbows leaning on knees with hands on brow, covering the tears he did not want anyone to see. "But—Ilia . . . what happened to her?" His voice was dead, flat, uninflected.

"Exactly three days after you left, she went out during a new moon. It was dark, so she could not see. It did not matter to her, for she already saw the world in darkness in her depression. So she ran out in the night, tripping over rocks and roots, but the sharp pain that stabbed her knees and elbows were nothing to the pain weighing down her heart. She was heading for some tall place to fall off into her death, and the closest place in the flatness of Ordon was the chasm where the bridge hung over.

"She reached her destination, panting. She took a break to calm her breaths. But when she leaned over to see the bottomless pit, she reeled back and tumbled to safety, her eyes going wide and her heart working in overdrive.

"You see, even at the bleakest times in our lives, death haunts us, and only the courageous can meet death honourably. But the most dishonorable and the lowliest thing you can ever do to yourself is to commit suicide when life gets too tough. It is the coward's choice to sleep into eternal bliss and avoid the heartache, disease, and frustrations we handle in waking.

"Sorry for rambling off there, I got that quote from some Forest Sage, I do not know which one," he laughed. "Okay, so where was I?"

"She is too scared to jump off the bridge," Zelda replied.

"She was too scared to jump, but she got off the pole she clung to and approached it cautiously. That was when I leaped into action. I was there, you know, because I was observing all of this and not sure what to make of it. I was only there because I was doing some bridge construction planning, and it was a good thing I was there too because I persuaded her not to do it with my Forest Sage's quote, and after that I talked her through whatever was bothering her. Unsurprisingly, it was her old flame. There were many more topics besides that, but it is the most prominent and one that concerns you, Link."

Link was still in his posture of self-belittlement. Zelda watched his heightened breaths, wondering what he thought of all of this, if his one-sided view on Ilia's behaviour had changed.

"You see, she had loved you for a very long time. You were her first crush, naturally, and that little flame burned into a bonfire raging, but she never put it out because she thought you would feel like that, too. She was too afraid to say those three simple words proclaiming her love. She did not want your friendship to change. But that was before she got captured by moblins and lost her memory. Did you ever love her in an intimate way?"

"Briefly," he said. "But the feeling is gone."

"Hers are too. After she almost leaped from the bridge, she rebuked herself for acting so rash and even laughed at it. Why would she ever kill herself over a man? Was she really that weak-willed? Among other questions like that. She gradually fell in love with me, partly because she wanted to fill that void in her chest with happiness once again, partly because I aided her in her darkest times and was always there for her. You still hold a place in her heart not as a lover but as a friend and a long lost link to a memory of happier times. And that applies to the entire village."

"I—," he started, hiccupped, and looked up, the tears gone. "I am ashamed."

Roren patted him on the back. "Do not be. It is all in the past. Ilia is a drama queen and overreacts in arguments. She says she will do this and that, but she never does it because it will be harmful. They are just threats out of spite. When the rage demon grabs a hold of Ilia, she is possessed and acts as quite the irrational foe."

He laughed along with Roren, the flush on his cheeks made him look lively. She loved his laughter. Hearty and low, it reminded her of a calming storm in the distance. She hated herself for causing pain on him, but she had to know.

"Link," Zelda said and grabbed his immediate attention. He stopped laughing at once and looked at her, ears turning a bright crimson from humiliation in seeing him in a wreck. She nervously shifted her gaze, not wanting to cause further discomfort, and managed to say in her most soothing voice possible, "What did you do to make her angry?"

"I said I would not stay. She continued begging, and then kissed me straight on the mouth," Zelda averted his gaze at the word 'kissing,' and immediately thought of her dream of last night. She blushed. He cleared his throat. "It did not mean anything romantically," he said to Roren, panicking at such a brisk confession. "This is what she said post kiss: 'I have always wanted to do that. We never had a first kiss together, Link, and missing something so big like that growing up just breaks my heart', or something along those lines."

"Ilia is always the sentimentalist," Roren said and took the confession calmly. "You misunderstand her. A first kiss among childhood sweethearts is part of growing up. To complete your growth in Ordon Village, she kissed you as a final acceptance of leaving."

"Really?"

"Yes! Although she might deny it, do not listen to her. The village will be fine without you. Contrary to popular beliefs among the youth, the world does not revolve around you. We will manage."

"She wants me to stay put. But I will not and I cannot," Link said.

"And she only thinks that because it is all that she remembers. She looks back to the past and is afraid of the future. She will be fine without you. I assure you." Roren stood up from his chair, seeing now that his job was well done in counseling Link.

"Thanks," Link mumbled, and stood as well. "What is next? The bridge?"

"I have all the notes for you on that, Your Grace," Roren said, handing her a sheet of elaborate blueprints. "Not the originals, of course, but they will suffice in guiding you of my own plans and your own views on such a masterpiece. The first metal bridge of Hyrule!" He grinned. "You can, if you wish, visit the structure. I have it in Ordon spring. I am to form it together to get practice on getting its shape perfectly, and then I will dissemble it and build it directly above the chasm. I felt it unfair of you to wait for my completion of the bridge since riding above the chasm is the only way out."

"Ulfur, did you get all that?" There was no response. "Ulfur?"

"He left sometime during our discussion," Link said.

"For what?"

"Who knows?"

"Ever the loyal servant, he is most likely packing your bags right now," Roren commented.

"Link," Zelda said urgently, grabbing a hold of his hands. "Say goodbye to the villagers tonight. We leave tomorrow. I have dawdled long enough here for your benefit, and our schedule time is running short."

He ripped his hands away from hers, as if she were on fire, with a wide-eyed look of panic. He breathed in heavily, straightened his spine, squared his shoulders, and lowered his eyes. "Yes, Your Grace."

With that, he disappeared into the cold evening where the crescent moon hung high in the sky in the midst of orange.

She pondered at his reticence, wondering if he believed in Ilia's claims of ruination in their relationship. She made a convincing case, she thought. It even managed to brainwash her into acting hostile to those who were not even a part of a bond between two friends, to act all high and mighty when she really wanted to do the opposite, to connect with the world where she had been trapped into opulent isolation for so long. She grimaced for a second, allowing the flow of hatred and anger to vanish, and marched out the door.

Tomorrow she would say her farewells and accept any gifts they paid her. Before such a revelation, she thought of rejecting the gifts, which was not the respectful thing to do in such a situation. It sent a message of pity, of saying that their gifts would do no good for her because she had rupees, millions and billions of them, that could buy her anything, and their gifts would be like stealing; they needed those gifts more than her. No one liked to be pitied, she realized.

When she got back, she went into her temporary room intending to pack, but Ulfur already beat her to it. A pile of clothes were on the bed and another pile was neatly stacked next to a chest, and Ulfur sat on the bed, setting things into it.

"You never once wore anything from your wardrobe until now," he said. "I wonder why tonight?" he pondered, folding a shining red dress. "No matter. I have everything all set for you, Your Grace, and I also told the townsfolk of your departure tomorrow. They agreed to give you a carriage since it is so cold, and some of them are currently arranging food provisions and other supplies and equipment for you. Such generous people!" He smiled. "I insisted on the word 'borrowing' but they said they had another carriage, so you can keep that one if you wanted."

"I—" She was speechless. The carriages in Ordon were a scarcity. She did not want to steal something so practical like a carriage. "Please, tell them I insist on giving it back once I am done its use."

"Oh!" He gave a merry laugh. "Tell them after. The Ordonians are all over the place in memory. I am sure they will not even recall you ever using it."

"Did you tell the men?"

"The men!" he jolted from his seated position. "I-I forgot about them. I am sorry. I will tell them immediately." He fled from the room, leaving Zelda to look around the surroundings in melancholy.

She would miss this place and all its eccentric, loving, and kind characters. She only regretted that she never participated as much as she should have, that she did not act in a way a normal queen would; but then again, a normal queen looked down upon them . . . she looked up to them.

All that she that she had done was in progress, and it was enough for her to know that Ordon was on its road to recovery.

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_A/N: _Is this chapter length too long? Just curious because this is the longest chapter I've ever written.

Cheers!

(*｀▽´)_旦~~


	14. Empathy

_a/n -_ I was going to update this tomorrow, but I thought today would be good since it's been forever since the last update. I fear that there won't be much updates after this one because I'm starting university this September. I'm so excited, I can barely sleep at night! So that created a lot of opportunities to start writing. I've got a ton of content for _Heartless, _which is what I'll be focusing on mainly. If you haven't read my profile page, there's more information there on what I'm working on and plans and such.

Anyway, this chapter contains a lot of 'intimate' moments. Hehehe...

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**~ 14 ~**

**Empathy**

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_I will feel the pain you experienced while crawling through dungeons, to hear the cries you keep hidden, to urge you on while fear grips you and pulls you down into a sea, drowning you, and to create a light in a suffocating void where you think no one chooses to hear your shouts for help. For, in my lifetime, I have felt something akin to what you are feeling now._

* * *

He came to her within three hours of travelling, when the sun's low fingers grasped over the plains and shrouded the hills in orange light. When a shuffling came from the front of the carriage, her head snapped up from the paper she was writing on, her eyes landing onto his handsome face—the strength of his jaw, the curve of his cheek, the harsh outline of his eyes. Her heartbeat stopped. Then, as if reminding her, it beat quickly as he gazed at her, questions arising in his dull eyes.

She gasped, startled. "Link?" She almost sputtered, but refrained herself.

He did not look around and stared blankly at her. "Mind if I come in?" he asked.

She looked at him, saw the strength he tried to maintain and the failure he kept within. His shoulders shook, but not from the cold. "Yes, of course," she said, gesturing to the seat beside her.

He sat, taking off his boots and staring at his surroundings. She was embarrassed by the half bed they sat on, designed like a couch, with luxurious cushions of vibrant silk. A tapestry, transparent and white, hung around them like wisps of air from the cold outside. Her chests full of clothes and other trinkets gifted by the Ordonians flanked them—large, towering, ornate chests with strange designs of ancient birds and blooming flowers. Behind her, the road drifted away along with the shapes and shades of the trees and skies.

He had only eyes for her, staring at her intently as she fiddled with some minor thing on her gloved hands.

"What is it that you want to speak about?" she asked, meeting his gaze, noting that he turned away at such abruptness of movement. She placed her papers underneath the bed.

"I—" he started, but licked his cracked lips before continuing. "First mostly, will you let me have your ears only, that the words I will speak will never be echoed from your own lips?"

Startled at such secrecy, she could only manage to gape at him.

A subtle scowl erupted over his features, turning them ugly, but he restrained himself from further outburst by inhaling deeply. "Do you or do you not want to hear it?" he asked at last, a hint of sorrow and regret imbued within his voice, and his eyes were downcast as he waited for her response.

She jumped at an opportunity, heart reaching high, bursting with joy. He wanted her to hear him, and hear him she shall!

Quickly, she spoke; frantically, eagerly her words escaped her lips, eyes widened in anticipation as she observed the expressions flit across his face. "I swear eternal fealty to you, dear Link, for you will have my loyalty and fidelity. I will feel the pain you experienced while crawling through dungeons, to hear the cries you keep hidden, to urge you on while fear grips you and pulls you down into a sea, drowning you, and to create a light in a suffocating void where you think no one chooses to hear your shouts for help. For, in my lifetime, I have felt something akin to what you are feeling now. As a queen, I must keep the kingdom's burdens on my shoulders, to feel everyone's perspective, to choose decisions which will ruin lives yet will save lives. As a hero, you must keep a smile on your face, to be brave and courageous, to show the people that you are invincible . . . when really you are crumbling inside. Together, we can take off our masks as queen and hero and relax around one another. Do you accept this as well?" She tilted her head in questioning, relieved to find that a smile slowly blossomed on his lips. She returned his toothy grin with one of her own, and he laughed, for never, in his life, had he seen her with a full-fledged smile displaying rows of pearly teeth.

"Your words of wisdom astounds me, Zelda," he said, shaking his head, cheeks red and eyes watery from laughter. "I am eternally grateful that you, a queen higher than all, is to be here with me, a lowly commoner, sitting and listening to my words of woe. Do you not have better time on your hands for such a trivial task?"

"I choose to listen to you when you feel as if no one else will lend an ear. Do not worry Link," she said, holding her hand to stop him for she knew what he was to say. "I will respect your privacy. I will never share the secrets you have so kindly bestowed upon me. You have my word." She pulled his hand and held it on her heart.

Pink grew around his ears as he pulled his hand away and rubbed his neck. "Of course you will hold your word, for the word of a queen is law." His eyes flashed to her, a strange blue colder than ice yet warmer than a clear summer's sky. "I accept you as Zelda, and I respect you as queen. What role will you play here and now, when I tell you what has been running through my mind since we prematurely left the village?"

"Zelda," she said simply. For once, her squared shoulders collapsed. She leaned against the cushioned pillow and put her bare feet up, settling by Link's arms as he mirrored her position. His large feet and square toes wiggled next to her, and she swatted them away, laughing.

"Enough jester!" she cried as the toes playfully pecked her forearm.

Link sat up, straight as a rod, as his expression went blank and distant, the sad memories rushing forth from his mind's eye, and then his lips contorted into a severe frown, his eyes watered and tears streaked his cheeks, sending his blue gaze ablaze with redness and exhaustion.

He sniffed and turned away. "You must think me weak. 'Why is he crying, a man? A hero?' you ask. My answer would be that I have kept up a stony face for so long, that I had not let tears to be shed as I ventured into Hyrule for the first time, and now that it is over, I can at last let the water run dry. If it ever will be dry," he scoffed. "Dry as stone like before, I let the wet tears of others drip down me—like a statue."

Zelda sat up too. "Cry all that you like! A good sob lets the stress away, and under the cover of an endearing friend, support will be granted and taken gratefully. You will not feel foolish with me, for I do not wish any ill will nor do I judge thee harshly. So cry, and let your face be stony once more."

"If I were to be stony again, my heart will not beat with affection and love to anyone or anything. I will have a heart of stone."

"Hmm," Zelda pondered, her encouragement falling. Link was so indecisive, so hesitant—sometimes he needed a good push in the right direction. "You have an imbalance. Too overemotional or too stoic. You need to find the right amount lest your heart decay into nothingness or explode over the tiniest thing—like squishing a bug! Would you cry over squishing a pesky bug?" she asked, pointing him out. "Especially the ones that take your blood and hurt while doing so."

He gulped down the sobs that were causing him to hiccup. "In this state, yes—yes I would cry over killing a bug. Me, a man who killed fearsome beasts and the undead, crying over a squished bug!" He laughed.

She smiled. "So," she said once his laughter died down, "what caused you to seek out my help?"

"Like you have observed, and which I never knew, my emotions have gone crazy over the past months. Ever since"—his eyes went to his hands, head bowed—_"she _left, I cannot cope with my companion's absence, nor can I cope with meeting expectations of being a hero. I can never look at my old friends and family and see happier times. All I see are torn souls from the invasion, innocence lost, times changed. I miss the older days, but I can never gain them back now that everything has moved forward. Am I to be a relic of the past? To be studied in history books? Or will I be a forgotten legend? For I cannot fathom where I fit into the future when I so desperately want to live my days as a ranch hand once more, although that is impossible when a sword fits smoothly into my hand instead of a pitchfork."

"You are lost and confused," she said, placing a comforting hand atop of his, which were folded neatly onto his lap. His shoulders slumped as he breathed slowly, relaxed, and his gaze glanced up at her kind eyes, questioning, wanting more truth. So she delivered what he wanted, and hoped that was the answer he sought.

"The future is in your hands. Do not let the historians write your life story down. You are the author of your own life story. Do as you will, for you are the creator, the decider, of your own life. Be who you want to be. Feel what you wish to feel. Cry, laugh, glower, shout, _live. _Simply being is the greatest feeling of them all, so do not feel empty when you are complex, when you feel nothing, you _are _something, for you exist."

He recoiled back at her insight, astonished. "I never realized I felt so . . . empty. Until you said it," he said sadly, leaning onto the cushions with his elbows. "I see that I do not know what I want, for what I wanted is now long gone. I can never return to it. Since I finished my fate, it has given up on me. I am forgotten. I am uninteresting. My duty is over, my life is over," he said, defeated.

Frustration did not seize her when he ignored her comment about creating events and not waiting as life moved on. She sensed he was in a negative state of mind, one that was so focused on the negatives, it was a chain of thought linked to the next darker, sadder thought, until the chain led right into a dark hole that was impossible to climb from with only the chain that brought him there. Made of long threaded strings that led directly into the light, she would be the rope to lead him out.

"'Tis not over yet!" she insisted. "You are young. The road of life is still ahead of you. Look," she said, pointing out the window. "See that tree that passes by? That is your childhood. Green with blithe, it has long gone. And see the bumps ahead?" She turned the other way, pointing. "Those are the obstacles in the road of life." The caravan leaped over a dent in the road. "See how easily we passed?" she asked.

He said nothing and nodded.

"Look," she continued, still not convinced that he agreed. "The horizon before us cannot yet be seen. Some events are covered in blue shapes and fog, so we know these will happen with foresight, yet beyond we do not know what lays. We know our destination in the end, for we planned this trip."

"Yet the roads repeat, Zelda," he added, and she smiled because he finally spoke. His reticence worried her. Link was happiest when he was loquacious, and she was happiest especially when he added to her own thoughts. "Life is a never-ending cycle. We go through the same thing on the same road. Childhood, adolescence, adulthood, old age, death. Those are common," he said.

"But you are forgetting that each road is different," she said. "If we were to travel near Snow Peak, it would be full of snow and cold. 'Tis the harsh road of life."

"That might be the road for me."

"No!" she cried, clinging onto her skirts. "This is the road that fits you. From Ordon Village to the Kakariko, from Kakario to Snow Peak, from Snow Peak to the Gerudo Desert, from the Gerudo Desert to Zora's Domain, from Zora's Domain to Lake Hylia, from Lake Hylia to Hyrule Castle. _That _is your road."

"How so?

"You have been everywhere," she said. "It makes sense that you are the roads of Hyrule."

He chuckled. "If that is true, since I am the hero that travelled and thus is connected through legend by the land of Hyrule, then the same can be said of you, queen."

She nodded. "Yes, so you see that your life is not over yet?" she asked, waiting patiently as she crossed her legs at the ankles, hands folded on her lap.

He ran a hand through his dishevelled blond locks. "You have convinced me," he smiled, "for you are a very persuasive sort of queen, are you not?"

"I suppose I am," she said, and she looked out the window behind her. The trees on one side disappeared into a sudden drop off, turning right down into a cliff with gnarled trunks growing on the side.

"Even if I think my life _was _worthless," he said, also staring out the window, "that was not the main reason I shed tears. I am not as cowardly as that to complain about life in a depressive manner. I had a love for life, and I am searching for that love again. In the meanwhile, that trip to Ordon Village was a blow to my heart, like a sword stabbed and twisted right into my chest." His knuckle thumped it, and he did not cry out in pain, for it was a very hard hit.

Guilt rained upon Zelda as he confessed to her. She should have never insisted that he should visit the people of Ordon. She very well knew that it would hurt him, yet she thought it would help him rather than cause him tears and heartache by seeing the merriment on the peoples of Ordon, and it would be a symbiotic relationship, for the Ordonians would cry in glory and love for the Hero of Twilight. Of course, she did not know the backstory behind him and Ilia nor the other villagers.

She thought him an outcast, living on the outskirts of the village, when in fact he was popular, cherished, even before the invasion. Now he was even more popular by saving Hyrule and playing the part of the hero, so why did he turn away from their love and affection when he so previously accepted it before?

She knew why. It was because it was a different type of love. Not one that was affectionate and intimate, but revered and distant, just like how the people viewed her, the queen. They knew her name, her birth date, yet they did not know her favourite colour or past times. Was that how it was with Link? He had certainly changed and was no longer a lazy youth living out his days in blithe. He was a man now, a man that had burdens to bear, fears to acknowledge, and a new path in life to follow. In many ways, he was like her, and that sort of similarity made her feel a deep empathetic connection with him, and she was certain that he felt the same way about her, for why else did he come to her and confess his sorrows? She would listen to him when he felt the world was deaf. That she promised.

"Forgive me," she mumbled, tears welling in her eyes. She turned away, not wanting him to see her crying over something he felt. That was the downfall of being empathetic—she felt pain too easily and hurt her just as much as the one who experienced it.

Link's anger subsided. "About what?" he asked behind her, and a soft hand placed itself upon her back shoulder.

Awkwardly, she turned round, her eyes no doubt red and her nose dripping. "I should have never allowed you to join me. Go now, if you cannot stand to see the smiles of Kakariko Village. Leave before I trample on you with despair once more."

His jaw set firmly. "Do not forgive, for it was not your fault. 'Twas my own doing, not yours. I knew that I could not see Ilia, for our friendship would transform into something less, and I knew that I could not see Uli and Rusl, for I would not be a son to them anymore. Colin I had disappointed by not seeing him sooner, by not showing him how to ride a horse for all those years I promised him I would, and I will disappoint him even more because I choose not to visit since I know my heart will turn permanently into nothingness. His disappointment will turn into resentment in due time, and as he matures, his resentment will turn into sorrow as he understands human nature and its inability to face challenges when proven too large," he said, caressing her cheek as he wiped a tear from her face. "I shall see Hyrule and its worshippers to the hero. That is my final achievement in bravery. It will not comfort me, for I have you for that," he said, a tilted smile forming. "I am facing my demons, so to speak."

"It will hurt you," she said carefully, slowly.

"All that Ordon had done to me is the greatest hurt I felt in my life. I will be fine this day forth," he replied firmly, setting his hands down to play with hers. His strong fingers, calloused and hot, smoothed her cold hands over like a warm waterfall. She sighed, convinced, as a brief silence passed them.

"You mentioned about Uli and Rusl being your parents? I thought you an orphan," she said, interested in his past. Link rarely spoke about himself.

Hurt glazed over his eyes again. This was obviously not a topic he was comfortable about, yet he continued. "Ah, yes," he said. "That was what I wished to speak to you about. I visited them when you went to see my house's repairs." The memory of him in his state of anger erupted in her mind. He had entered his house to blow off steam, and that he did as he ranted about Ilia. But was there more to it than that? "It was not a good time, and the memory will haunt me for ever."

**~::-x-::~**

The sun reached its zenith as Link walked on the dirt pathway to Uli and Rusl's house, near the stream, its bubbling water still not frozen as the sun's warm rays touched its shimmering surface. Pass the dead flowers he went, where their former glory of purple and blue were now a putrid brown, crumpled and dried. Up the hill he walked, his boots caked with dirt and mud and wet snow, and there the oaken door loomed, awaiting him like it always did. But this time he did not feel welcomed on the doorstep of Rusl's house. He felt like a betrayer, and like all betrayers, guilt consumed him as he met his victims' presence.

With a huge sigh, he knocked. They had avoided him during his visit, sensing that he had changed drastically, that he was no longer the Link they loved, that his smiles and laughter were false. How right they were.

As if expecting him, the door immediately opened, slowly. Link looked straight ahead, wondering if he could do this small task, this final act of saying good bye when he had not done it the last time, the proper time. A belated good bye is never as good as the first opportunity, where hearts blossomed in their vow of love and shattered when the farewell left solemn lips.

"Link?" a boy's whisper. Link looked down, seeing Colin's light grey-blue eyes—similar to his own—stare up at him, incredulous. Then, his blank expression turned to one of anger and anguish: his eyes darkened and his brows lowered, his lips scowled and his nose wrinkled. "What do you want?" he muttered. Although his features displayed bitterness, his voice shook and cracked with sadness from times' lost.

"May I come in?" he asked.

Like a child, Colin's lower lip trembled, threatening to cry. "No," he said obstinately. Wordlessly, he began to close the door, but Link's foot stopped him. Just then, from behind, Rusl's voice called out.

"Let Link in, Colin," he said softly, and he came to the door, holding a babe clothed in pink against his chest. "I have not seen you in many moons," he said. "Has the dusk been kind to you?"

When he spoke, he was distant like a stranger passing by making pleasantries. There was no fatherly advice to be given, which Link desperately sought out, for Rusl had given his all when Link grew from boy to young man. Rusl had been absent in his life when it was proven to be too difficult and too nightmarish to be even considered living, and for that he was remorseful. Most of all, he had not been there when Link changed from young man to man, and for that Rusl was resentful to himself and careful around Link, believing that he was his own man and not a child to be looked after, to be guided.

They stared eye to eye across the table. Rusl fed the baby in his arms from a goatskin bottle while Colin lingered nearby in the shadows. Link wanted to make a joke of Rusl attending the role as a mother when he had been previously a swordsman and a member of the Resistance. But this was not a joking matter. Exhaustion filled Rusl's eyes as he gently cooed the baby.

"Her name is Elina," Rusl said, startling Link for there had been a long pause in talk. "Born the day you left."

At that, Link knew that he also disappointed Rusl. Obviously he wanted Link to become the elder brother or an uncle to the young Elina. To stay behind and flourish with the dead end village, where a man born there stood rooted to its ground until the soil sucked his corpse back into the earth, was not a life for Link anymore, and it was hardly a life at all for Rusl.

The two men were similar in many ways because Rusl passed down his values onto Link like a son, melding him from iron and gold just like his father had done before him. Adventure laid in each of their hearts, beckoning them like a pulchritudinous woman draped in the thinnest cloth, her singsong voice high and sweet, imploring them to follow their heart's desire. Where Link had gone and went, Rusl had stayed leaving his ambitions behind and pinned down with duties as a father and village elder, and in his youth, forced to stay by family obligations and his father's ambitions. That was where there differences laid.

"She is very beautiful," Link offered. At his voice, the baby opened her big green eyes, sparkling with curiosity. "She has your eyes." He smiled.

"Yes," Rusl replied. "And her mother's sweet disposition."

"How is Uli?"

Rusl grew silent, eyes lingering on the door.

"My mother is ill," Colin said. "Of course you would not know since news does not reach from beyond our village. Besides, who would care for a simple village woman?" He scoffed. "Certainly not _you, _Mr Big-Shot Hero_." _

"Colin," Rusl snapped. "Go to your room."

"He does not have to," Link said quickly, not wanting further resentment from Colin, a past admirer turned to disparager.

This time Rusl's eyes flickered to him with bitterness. "He is of my blood, not yours."

_Not yours._

This statement caused the blood to thin within Link's veins. Cold claws tore at his heart. Still he smiled through such a callous comment, pretending he did not mind it at all when in fact it pounded him from the inside out like a ball and chain. He felt he were their blood kin, but Rusl successfully reminded him that he was not, that he had no family, that he was an orphan. For that, he felt alone in the universe.

"I will take my leave now," he said, knowing that he was unwelcome here, knowing that he caused discomfort around Rusl and Colin.

Rusl's eyes softened and his heart called out to Link. "Link—!" he cried, reaching out to him. At such sudden movement, Elina began to cry, waving her small fists around. Rusl immediately stopped moving and gave all attention to the baby, cooing and bouncing her in his arms.

Link stopped at the door to catch this last sight, and knew it was best that he left and never returned.

* * *

_a/n_ \- such a short chapter compared to the last one. That one was _huge _lol. I don't think I'll meet that chapter length for a very long while. And before you go on saying 'but Rusl should be proud of Link—not disheartened!' Zelda will be analyzing Link and Rusl's family's situation and _true _feelings for Link so he won't be so emotional and angst-y. In my view, Link's a softie but doesn't like to show it since he's the hero.

Also, if any of you are interested in MBTI and psychology, I based Zelda's personality after an INTP and Link after an ISFP. Those are their true personalities in Twilight Princess based on their actions, mannerisms and speech. Thought that would be of interest to any readers, especially _you _(you know who you are!)


	15. Growth

.

* * *

**~ 15 ~**

* * *

**Growth**

* * *

_You and I are chosen for this task. Do not fail fate, for she smiles upon you again. Will you not greet her like an old friend?_

* * *

Link's emotions and life were a deep contrast to Zelda's. Where Zelda's would be described as a pond where still waters ran deep, Link's would be described as the Zora's River, rampaging, loud, angry, yet it was filled with quiet, peaceful moments where idyllic scenery captured the atmosphere in blissful contentment for life. Rocks in the river proved too difficult to pass, but the water would slip through like a snake and fall to the other side, constantly moving forward, never rushing back. A cliff where the river flew off were like opportunities to Link. He jumped without question, sought for events in life and hurried into things.

There were many regrets Link had for one who was so young. The way he spoke, Zelda thought he were an old man looking back on past mistakes that haunted him to this day. Yet she knew he was young, and she knew it was wrong that he had so many.

"Please do not overthink things," Zelda said. "That is what throws you deeper in despair."

"How?" he asked angrily, his passion in full force.

"Rusl and Colin do not hate you like you think they do," she said. "Like you, they are uncomfortable with you acting like a hero. Did you not see that they did not openly greeted you like all the other residences of Ordon? They lingered behind, watching as the village swarmed you. They knew you acted falsely. They only love you for you, not as the hero. That is what true love is."

A look of contemplation crossed his face as he leaned into the pillows, cheeks ruddy from previous tears. "I never thought about it like that," said he, a frown itching upon his lips. "Am I too blind to read others' emotions?"

"You are too wrapped up in your own sorrows." She placed a comforting hand on his arm. "Do not think that you are selfish for a second, for a man that has been through so much should cater to his own needs first before serving others."

"I do not want to be selfish, for a selfish man is monstrous in perception–through his own eyes and others."

Zelda took his hand and squeezed it. "You are not being selfish," she said calmly. "You are recovering–"

He jumped from that, squirming to the other side of the bed as if she were on fire. _"Recovering?" _he spat. "I am not recovering. I am moving on." When he realized the white pallor veiling her, he slouched and sank to his knees, sighing heavily, regretting his outburst. "I am a mess," he sadly admitted. "So yes, I am recovering from that nightmare we all lived through."

"And you were at the centre of it," she added. "If anyone were to be selfish, it were to be you. Focus on yourself. Do not please others."

"But I need to, for I am the hero of legend."

"A hero has his wounds."

"People have wounds too. I am a man as well, an ordinary man. My wounds do not heal faster than others just because I have the title of a hero."

"Link," she started, interrupting his endless stream of words. He ceased talking with a panic look – eyes widened, brow raised. She knew he wanted to continue to avoid the inevitable. Yet she had to ask this horrific question, she had to be the one to deliver the angst that would rain upon him, that would push him forward and free himself from the trapped past he so constantly looked to. "What happened to your parents?" she asked quietly, averting her gaze.

He said nothing. From her peripheral vision, he slowly moved, sliding down and low like thick mud. "I –" he began, then stopped and gulped dryness. "My true parents are dead. The ones who raised me were Rusl and Uli…"

**~::-x-::~**

Rusl was a distinguished man with grand ambitions ensnared by his moral duties from a very young age. His father, the mayor before Mayor Bo, offered him a rich education in politics, ethics, literature and economics and pressured him to be his successor. His mother, a lone warrior from the northern mountains, offered him vast techniques in the art of the sword and with it great adventure brewed in his heart.

However, this thirst and hunger for adventure died off in later years when he began to court the lovely maiden Uli – his dream, his love, his life. Her smile captured sunshine, her eyes rivalled the stars. She was his everything, and such silly fantasies of becoming an adventurer died whenever he heard her tinkling laughter, or whenever he saw her face light up in passion for whatever miniscule thing she had seen or heard. She was an optimist – a counterpart to the dark clouds that swirled around his head.

This love never left him completely, yet it wavered – or perhaps his need for something new overcame everything in his life that he felt compelled to leave the only place he knew all his life, or maybe his time of existential crisis arose in full force as it was suppressed all these years. He grabbed his bag – a crude blanket, adequate food provisions, and an extra change of winter clothes in it – and his sword that hung on the wall, dusty from years of neglect. With doleful eyes, he watched his fiancée sleep peacefully – her form still, her breaths even – and left under the gloom of nightfall.

Upon his guilty conscious, the black clouds brewed, swarming him with dark thoughts, thoughts that left him brittle and broken, thoughts that would ultimately destroy him if kept this thin path he walked. Yet, he knew that second guesses prevented good outcomes. So he swallowed his uneasiness down and trudged on under the autumn sky, the wind pushing against him, urging for him to turn around and return to the comfort of his home – the comfort of the only life he had lived.

But the thrill of adventure leaped from his heart and advocated him to continue on this unknown path, its uncertainty a grand astonishment and break for the dullness he had dwelled under.

Whatever it might be – fate, his own will, the goddesses – he had come across a babe during this night of hesitation. The child, a youngling no more than four weeks old, cried loudly, his tiny limbs waving high in the sky as if some matron would pick him up and cradle him in her arms. Partially covered in dead leaves, he was hard to detect. Nonetheless, Rusl stopped and stared at exactly where the child laid, disbelief riddling his mind, cries of injustice tearing his heart. A child – abandoned – under a leafless tree in the heart of the forest under the dark skies and harsh winds of autumn.

Rusl knew that this was no ordinary child, for a mark of the Triforce bore upon his hand, indicating greatness and a hero to rival darkness. He picked the child up – so soft and so light in his rough hands – and scrutinized him. A silken cloth served as a diaper – this child was born to rich merchants, mayhaps – and a golden prism necklace hung on his tiny frame, the chain bigger than his height. Rusl studied this necklace, puzzled by it. It could mean anything and everything – yet, at this moment in time, nothing came to him as to why the child bore it.

An epiphany happened to him as he walked home with the child carefully wrapped in his rough spun blanket, sleeping in peace. He gently pushed away the fine blond hairs on the child's head, imagining himself as a father to this youngling, imagining Uli by his side, raising their first child together. The warmth of their modest home wrapped around them, the child would grow to be a strong boy, bold and full of life and laughter, racing in the meadows, playing in the forest, challenging all with his wooden sword – and then he would be a young man, serious and determined, ready to take on any task – no matter how challenging – and conquer it, and then, at last, a full grown man with his own life experiences and his own wisdom to pass down. This comfortable life flashed before Rusl's eyes, and he knew that he had to return home.

He placed the child gently down onto a soft cushion on the floor, then he went to unpack his meager belongings to their proper places, as if he had never left Uli and so that she would never know, for if she did, he knew he would never forgive her. So this secret was among him and this son he had found, that he would raise, that he would mold and sculpt into a good man.

The next day, he awoke to see Uli feeding their son from a goatskin bottle, the sunlight pouring from the open window, shrouding them in a blinding, angelic light.

"Hello," she said, smiling.

Rusl wrapped his arms around her from behind and placed a chin on her shoulder, watching as their son cooed, satisfied with his meal.

"He is a child gifted by the spirits, and we are honoured to raise him," she said quietly. "Look." With a tender hand, she picked the boy's left hand up, palms facing down. The mark of Farore seemed to shine in the morning light. "He bears the mark of heroes. He has the spirit of the heroes before him."

"Do you know what each hero is called? They all share the same name," Rusl responded.

"Link," Uli whispered, a calm smile gracing upon her lips. "It is a very handsome name."

"It is a prideful name to bear, a name that would be hard to live up to if any other were to be graced by it, but I am certain that our son will exceed all expectations. He will be the greatest hero of them all and save Hyrule from whatever – " Rusl stopped himself, not wanting Uli to be frightened by nonsensical talk of prophecies and omens. "He will be our first born son," Rusl said.

"I do not care what he becomes, for he is our son. We will love him unconditionally, will we not?" Uli raised Link in her arms and helped him burp.

Rusl smiled at this, watching Link's wide blue eyes curiously following his movements.

"Yes, we will."

**~::-x-::~**

"This necklace…" Zelda spoke at last after a moment of silence passed. "Is it still in your possession?"

"He gave it to me the night I returned and told me this story," Link replied, fetching a chain around his neck. He pulled out the necklace out from under his shirt and handed her the pendant, chain still attached around his neck. "I never take it off, for it is my hidden past that I will never know – a remainder for where my true roots are."

"But…" Zelda started, remembering Uli and Rusl's pale, sad faces watching Link as he trotted around, entertaining like a circus animal. "Uli and Rusl love you."

"I do not think so," Link spat. "They never told me I was an orphan until recently. What sort of _parents," _this he said with loathing, "do that?"

"They feared your response, anticipated it with trepidation. Who knew _how_ you would react? _This _imminence"––she gestured to him, placing a hand on his heart, its fluttery beats like butterfly wings––"is what they feared. So whenever they attempted to speak to you of truth, hesitation grabbed them and snatched their words, leaving them in silence. They left the answers you sought out until the last possible moment––a moment too late, for their disinclination miscarried you into a fit of rage and contempt. Fear is a powerful tool that can control our actions into irrationality and the same can be said of wrath." She gave him a look, implying about his own faults too.

"That still does not explain Rusl's cold-hearted reply––as if he disowned me!" Fury pulsed through his veins, protruding them out like ugly flesh scars. "The man who found me, who raised me, who taught me life––_he is not my father."_

"All he said was an irrational thing, for at the time, anger and fear seized him. Do not put too much emphasis on emotions." Zelda put a finger on her cracked lip, wiping away the blood that blossomed from dry weather. "What was it that he said? That you are not of their blood?" she asked, taking out a handkerchief to wipe the red away from her fingertip.

"I can forgive him for his cowardice, but I will never forgive him for that," Link replied, shaking from whatever fits of vehemence he controlled from within.

"He has changed from the Twilight Invasion. That can be said of everyone," Zelda said calmly, gazing at Link, hoping that her coolheadedness would freeze his temper into serenity. "You said he once aspired to be a grand adventurer, correct?"

All he did was nod.

"Instead, all he became was a father in a small village. When his time came, he became a protector of Hyrule, he joined the Resistance, he played his part behind the scenes. However, that was not enough."

Link eyed her with suspicion. "What do you mean?"

"He wanted to be what you have become," was all she said, hiding from shame that tinged her ears. It was a ridiculous theory, but there was truth to it, and she was a truth bringer, so therefore she said what had to be said.

He laughed at that––a vicious laugh. "Why would he be envious? He should be prideful."

"It is much more complicated than that," Zelda said slowly, thinking of what else to support her claim. "Dreams never die, not even in elderly age."

"Rusl––"

"At the subconscious level," Zelda continued, "this envy operates. He does not realize it for it is suppressed. When emotions run rampant––his fear of losing you, his anger of your false charms––they let lose what we desire to say but are too cowardly of the consequences from the infliction of hurt upon loved ones. An impulsive act was committed––an act of bitterness for his lost opportunity, an act of anger for the false role you provide to the world––so what he wanted to say to break your spell under it, and to reveal his true feelings of the whole situation, was unravelled in that simple sentence. _Not of his blood, nor of mine…_" she finished, staring up at Link, who, in his time of torment, paced around the moving vehicle, seemingly not caring how it jolted from bumps and swayed with turns.

"I never knew…" he started, rubbing his hair furiously.

"You were never supposed to know." She watched as he took a seat beside her, waiting for a response from him.

He did not know what to say to her. His lips twitched as if to formulate words, but only a moan came out. "He––" he stopped himself, glanced around, folded in amongst himself––as if in prayer––and murmured something to his hands. At last, he sprang up from this position and stared at her with gleaming hope in his light blue eyes.

"Is it not true that men live through their sons?" he cried, finally expressing his sentence seamlessly.

"I––I do not know," she answered, realizing that she never had the life experience of living with a brother and her father, or a son to call her own.

"This can be fixed!" he shouted, the joy wrapping around him in a blanket of warmth. "You had paper––a quill––where is it?" He was breathless, the excitement pounding through him.

Wordlessly, Zelda reached under the bed and handed him the papers and quill she had previously written on. She watched––smiling––as he jotted words down in quick succession, that inevitable tongue reaching over his upper lip and to the tip of his nose.

When he was done, he whistled the hawk's tune and it came to him, landing on the moving caravan's window sill. He attached the letter to its ankle and watched the hawk take flight.

"Why is it that––" she started, then suddenly felt bashful and shy for he gazed at her, the happiness exuding from his very being. He looked attractive––the blues of his eyes penetrative, his soft mouth a friendly curve.

"You were saying?" he urged.

"You speak very well for a––a––" His eyes were so hypnotic, distracting her from functioning properly and placing her into a trance of openly staring. Irritated and flushed, she squeezed her knuckles together and studied the floor.

"A commoner?" he completed as she attempted to change her strange behaviour.

"Yes, I––"

"Rusl had an exceptional education for the circumstances he was in. He taught all that he knew to me. His mother, a recluse from the mountains, spent her days writing beautiful poetry and taught it to him as well, who in turn taught it to me. That is why," he said simply.

"Oh," she replied, feeling daft for the obvious answers were there before her, and she did not have the sense to see the connection.

"I still cannot fathom Rusl's envy," he said sadly. "D'you think that he is blind to see it?"

Zelda nodded. "If it helps," she started suddenly, recognizing the sadness envelope him once more. "I also think it is because you exceeded his expectations of being the hero––but that dream of _becoming _the hero is not the same as _being _the hero… afterwards," she added as an after thought. "You disappointed him yet made him proud."

"How do I repent my failures?" Eagerness imbedded into his voice.

Zelda smiled, loving the way how he hunted improvement, how he moved passed his mistakes and learned from them. "The question is," the smile wiped from her lips, "are you wiling to sacrifice yourself for the entire kingdom, or are you willing to leave us to rot within shadows and relive the past of Ordon Village, to please Rusl and live up to the hopes of Colin? To be the brother of young Elina, the sister you never had?"

Pain shot through him––through her, a lighting bolt that spread from her head to the bottom of her spine and to her toes. She could not believe she said those words––the very words he refused to hear, to be reminded of decisions long gone.

"I––" he gasped. "I already chose this path, to be with you, to fill the boots of a hero again."

"You must move on and walk with me, Link," Zelda said slowly––hating how she would be the one to bring pain upon him. He needed to hear this, and she was the one to speak these words: "Forget them for a moment and head into the future with me, hand in hand. We will be saviours of Hyrule. Rusl will love you because of that. He will understand your need to be something that you are not, to live and abide by a set of rules that go against your beliefs––all for the betterment of our kingdom, the golden land created by the goddesses and watched by Hylia, Her Grace. You and I are chosen for this task. Do not fail fate, for she smiles upon you again. Will you not greet her like an old friend?"

Link looked at her, astonishment flickering in his eyes. They grew wide at first, then they squinted, dimples wrinkling round the edges into a genuine smile of laughter and glee. "You are indeed wise, Zelda!" He sat swiftly down beside her. With deft movements, her hands were suddenly in his, his lips on the pale knuckles, brushing them gently as he laid a kissed. Confusion settled over her brow as he laughed manically.

"If you were a therapist, you would be the one I would seek," he proclaimed with pride.

"W-What did I do?" she asked as he hopped around, doing a strange dance. At this, she stifled a laugh, for it was amusing to see Link––a serious man––jump around and wiggle his limbs and jiggle his fingers.

He leaned in and gave her a deep hug, shocking her as his strong arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her up as if she weighed nothing, spinning her around as he joyously shouted: "You have given me purpose!"

An ecstatic realization struck. For once she made him smile and laugh and full of joy. The accomplishment sent blissful vibes throughout her body. She grinned and joined him in his guffaws, feeling his contagious merriment.

"So,"––she gasped for breath––"You will assist fate, the goddesses, and me?"

"This renewed purpose fills me. I no longer feel as empty," he replied. "I will do whatever in my power to help you and your kingdom, my queen. I swear of it." He lowered himself onto one knee and clutched his left hand to his heart, his other arm leaned on his raised knee, and his hand––in the form of a knuckle––rested on his forehead, his head bowed.

"I…" She was surprised by this random act––of silliness or seriousness?––she could not tell. When he did not move after seconds of silence, she knew this was no joke. "Arise, Link," she quietly said. "I accept your offer. Will you accept mine?"

"And what might that be?" he asked, clinging his hands to her own cold ones. He smoothed them with his warm fingers, as if to transfer his life-force to her and lend her his strength.

_That I am romantically inclined to you, _she wanted to say, but instead she smiled a wavering smile and said:

"Together, we will build this kingdom upon prosperity and into a new golden age."

"A grand challenge," he said. "I accept."

A messenger––a man who went by the simple name of _the Postman––_had arrived for Link. Link left the caravan, smiling widely as he did so, waving her farewell, letting her know that he would return to chat with her if she requested him.

Zelda stared at the blank page of paper before her. Before he had interrupted her, it was a letter dedicated to him, a letter to restart that forgotten chain of letters they left at Ordon. She stared, yet she could not summon any words as the recent scene of events replayed within her mind's eye––Link's laughter, his bow, his hands on her hands, lips brushed against fingers, dancing eyes full of vitality, his clear voice––determined and invincible.

_A grand challenge. I accept._

_Would you accept what I desired? _

That was the question she wished she asked.

* * *

The sun set as the caravan stopped, leaving its last orange rays lingering behind the treeline, peeking through in shimmering slivers of a spiritual glow. Long shadows were casted, gripping its long, thin and gnarled fingers around the caravan. Zelda stepped outside, placing a hand above her eyes to shield her from the bright light setting in the west.

"Your Grace," Ulfur called, hopping off of his mount. He went to her, bowed deeply, and rose with a warm smile. "It is evening soon. Dare we press on in the dark?"

"Why ever not?" she asked.

"The war may be over, but its villains remain," he answered. "They linger in the shadows, waiting to attack the rare passerby. The roads are dangerous."

"I have you as protection," she said absentmindedly, playing with the gloves she tore off. "I suppose the horses are tired and hungry as well as the rest of the men. We shall set up camp and rest until the break of dawn. Tomorrow is when we will reach Kakariko Village."

Darkness fell like a blanket, enveloping the camp whole, and the stars' holes poked through, the lights of the universe sparse yet vast. Zelda, restless from not riding a horse that day, sat in the temporary tent, shivering. The dusky glow of the campfire's embers bled through the thin canvas, and she watched the blurred light, dazed, relaxed, unthinking. Her mind had stopped buzzing from activity. It was time to sleep.

But sleep did not offer her solace.

Thinking that lying there in her fur blankets and silk cushions was useless, she arose from her lair and walked outside of the tent, her thin chemise nothing against the coming winter's cold.

"You should sleep," a voice in the darkness said––low and powerful, promising courage and honour.

Startled, she turned to Link, his face hidden in the shadows. "As should you," she responded, voice aggravated from the scare her heart suffered.

"I did not mean to scare you," said he, obviously seeing her in her distraught state. "Sometimes I underestimate my own stealth. I thought you could see me."

"Do you underestimate your own strength?" she asked, remembering how soft his touches were against her own bare skin. They were gentle, as if he were holding a brittle flower on the brink of death.

"Yes," he admitted. "Human contact has been absent from my hands all these years. I have not shaken a man's hand nor have I embraced a woman. How am I to know the appropriate pressure for both? After training and fighting, I do very much so underestimate my strength––what would be a gently squeeze could fracture bones."

"The trick to becoming accustomed," she said, nearing him, "is to practice. Hold my hand." She gestured.

His fingers––rough and calloused––slipped between her fingers. He tensed as she swung them to and fro, mimicking a handshake.

She released her hand just as he relaxed and instead looped her arm through his. "Let us walk."

"That would be the most unwise," he started. "It is dark and cold and we do not know what is out there in the shadows."

Zelda ignored him. "We will not get lost if that is what you are implying. The campground is in the middle of a field––a dry field, at that. Come, let us go search for some berries."

Whatever reluctance he had was gone in an instant, the image of plump berries before his eyes and the taste of imagined sweetness between his teeth. "As you wish," he said, smiling.

After minutes of walking in silence, enjoying the scenery of the starlit sky against the jagged rocks of the land, he spoke again. "People never see you as impulsive," he suddenly remarked. "They see you as boring, methodical, the queen who is shackled to her throne."

"I make do what I have," she replied, hugging his arm tightly. He held her arm loose between his side and arm, as if she were a vase made of glass. "Of course I must obey my duty as the queen, so I do all the requirements exceptionally well due to my disciplinary mind set, but I do have my fun when things get a little _too _boring." She grinned, and he returned it back.

"Like what?"

"Oh, if there is a boring paper to read and make notes on, I scribble to the sides of it with little images of flowers or stars. I believe they are called _doodles."_

"I do those all the time."

"And when I am restless, which seems to be always nowadays, I go for a walk, look at the palace walls, the decorations, the doors, the rooms, the gardens. My home is far too large that I have yet to unlock all secrets. There is a discovery to be made everyday."

"So is this your substitute?" he asked. "Since you are not at home now."

"I like this better. I can see the sky, breathe fresh air, and feel the nature everywhere. Is this what it was like for you during your travels?"

"Not as peaceful," he muttered beneath his breath. Then, as if he felt like he downed the mood, he added with a hint of enthusiasm: "Look at the stars! Do you not see Hylia among them?"

Zelda gazed up at the constellations. It was different from the city with its lights shielding from its grandeur. Here, out in the open, the sky was not just black but an infinite shade of blue: dark blue like the deep end of water, light blue like the turquoise jewelry she wore, and a medium blue like the sapphires that adorned her crown. The stars seemed to shine brighter against this vast backdrop of colours. She gasped. There was no way she could hold in her awe.

"Beautiful," she murmured, a hand raising to her lips to cover her gaping mouth.

"It is," he agreed. "But I have seen far more beautiful sights––"

_Twang. _

In a second, he was on her, his breaths and heartbeat a calm to the storm her body was under. She trembled from fear of the noise and the thoughts that followed. _An arrow aimed for me––missed by inches…_

"Get behind the rock," he whispered, his eyes leading her way. "Do not look. Do not flee. Stay. I will handle this." Nonetheless, he slipped something between her fingers.

She ran for cover just as another silent arrow whizzed by, the kiss of death close to her ear. She sat with her back behind the rock and squeezed her eyes shut, imagining the battlefield she had abandoned when she was princess, the battlefield she had fought on when she was a heroine.

She looked to her hands, seeing the arch of a bow, felt the hardness of the arrows' shafts. Quickly, she knew what she had to do, knew what he intended for her to do. To cover him.

She did not hear Link who was undoubtedly moving on his swift, soundless feet. Placing a few arrows onto the ground, she peered over the rock, an arrow already nocked onto the bow. Darkness and emptiness surrounded her. To her left, there was a cliff that went straight below, a cliff that had its surface run and abruptly stop, as if the dirt jumped to the heavens before plunging down into its depths. To her right, endless land. Before her, the treeline's silhouettes watched her silently, their limbs still from the gone wind.

Branches moved, leaves rustled. _There._

She pulled hard and let the arrow fly, its majestic swirl pierced and shrieked with hushed whispers. The clump of trees stopped moving. She got it––whatever it was.

"Zelda!" Link cried softly, emerging from the trees, running to her. He sat down beside her, eyes scanning, ears listening. "You killed it."

"And––and…?" she gasped, eyes wide. "Was _it _Hyrulean, a man, a bulbin?"

"Bulbin," he said with disgust. "They kill for food. You were nothing but a meal to it."

Zelda sighed, thankful that it was not a man. No matter how evil a man was––how _despicable _he was––death was not justice.

"We are safe?" she whispered, glancing around. The darkness pressed in on them, leaving an ill feeling of claustrophobia, but it also loomed all around––a vast void to be lost in. Her breath hitched, her heartbeats exploded into an irregular pulse.

"Yes." He leaned over her, gazing downwards into her eyes. There was comfort to be found around him––his presence lending her confidence, courage, temperance. With a gentle squeeze of the hand, the fear was vanquished, gone. "You will always be safe with me," he said softly, lending her his hand. In an instant, she was on her feet, attached to Link's side.

"I know." She looped her arm around him again, leaned her dizzy head against his broad shoulder. The fear had left its bizarre effects on her––she felt weak, shaky, panicky.

"That was terrible of me––I should have seen that bublin coming. There are no excuses to be made besides my own faults." A shudder, a moan of despair.

"Relax," she said, soothing him with the brush of her hand against his back. He was always too hard on himself, she found. "You were distracted by beauty."

He grew silent as their walk slowed. "Yes, beauty…" he trailed off, and the heat radiated from him like the sun.

Under the moon's half-lidded eye, Zelda and Link left the rough terrain with its harsh landscape and entered the frayed treeline. The camp was asleep, the embers now ashes. To bed she went; to the trees he laid. She was shaken; he was devastated. This observation probed her mind, refusing to leave until she at last allowed it to transform into thought.

Beneath his heroic exterior, Link was nothing but a man. A man trapped in darkness, where no light could pierce through and offer him assistance. A man who lived yet was dead, like a ghost amidst the living—seeing, observing, present—_but not there at all. _He was at a loss of who he was and what he would be, of what he wanted and what he desired—his very own identity nothing but a void.

And she had peered in, gave him a purpose…

Only it to be taken away with the breath of an arrow.

It would be a hard path for her, an even harder path for him, but she was determined to make him alive.

_This_ was the only tribute the Queen could give to the Hero.


	16. Kakariko Village

_a/n - Before you begin on this new chapter, I would like to tell you that I changed a major plot point seen in last chapter. Where Link looked happy at the death of a monster and thrilled at some violence, I made him devastated and weak from that encounter. I realized he would be seen as a bloodthirsty monster, which I wouldn't like him to be in a story of struggles in the internal and external worlds. You are welcome to reread the ending, which I rewritten to accommodate these new changes.  
_

_Besides that, I would also like to mention that I am going to focus a lot of energy on _Absolute._ I am having such a wonderful time writing it, it brings me lots of a joy! Even when I reread it and think of all the mistakes I did—I literally facepalm myself, turn beet red, and go in denial mode—I still focus on the positives. The disadvantages of perfectionism makes me wanna pull my hair. :(_

_Anyways, enjoy! If you see any typos, let me know and I will fix them! My brain gets used to them after reading it over and over again, so it is hard for me to spot out. _

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**16**

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**Kakariko Village**

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_I was born in as an heir, as my foremothers before me, and I will live out my life as it was destined to be: a ruler._

* * *

Morning crept in with low, grey clouds. There was no screeching of the wind and the sun hid behind a veil of mist.

When she had changed to a woolen gown of burgundy skirts and evergreen sleeves, and drew on her favoured black cloak, she ventured out of her tent to find that everything had been packed and loaded. All the men gathered around a campfire, jesting and laughing amongst each other, the fire a ferocious roar that crackled like thunder amidst the empty air. Sitting along the outskirts were Ulfur and Link, both with long faces and untouched meals of beans and ale.

"Good morning." She sat down on a stump, pulling her hood.

Both jolted from their dazed states when they heard her voice.

"Good morning, Your Grace," Ulfur said with a smile. He set his plate down and reached behind his seat to retrieve something. "For you." He handed her a clear bottle with pumpkin soup inside.

Nodding in thanks, she accepted her breakfast, cupping it in her hands. It was still warm and gave her comfort, and when she took a sip, it tasted very sweet and salty.

"Are we prepared to leave?" she asked when the bottle went empty. Out of the corner of her eye, Link ate sullenly. He probed his meal, taking a bite out of spoon every so often, and sat still with somber eyes.

"Whenever you are ready, Your Grace," Ulfur replied.

"If we leave now, we will arrive at noon."

"Understood," was all he said. Immediately, he vanished into the crowd of men and started to holler out orders. A group went to her tent to clean up, another went to feed the horses who nickered at their owners, and the rest finished their meals and gathered dishes for washing.

Embarrassed by her lack of consideration and the mess she had left, she stood and attempted to help, only to be stopped by Ulfur.

"There are more pressing matters than cleaning. Here is a letter from Renado, the shaman of Kakariko Village and recently elected representative. Sadly, their previous one passed away from the invasion." There were tears in his eyes. "He was a good man…"

Before she could offer words of comfort, he shoved the letter into her hands and left.

.

_To Queen Zelda of Hyrule,_

_Like all places across Hyrule, Kakariko Village has suffered immensely. Our population has dwindled down to a few. Destroyed buildings are everywhere and the rest need major maintenance. The survivors have recurring nightmares that are growing worse by each night. There are still monsters roaming about. Fortunately, our neighbours, the Goron tribe, have successfully managed to fight off these beasts, but they are like vermin. They are an endless supply ready to be squashed, only to reappear again. _

_ What I am purposing to you, Your Grace, is to help us fix our buildings, devise a plan to encourage permanent residence in Kakariko Village from the bustling city of Castle Town, and to find the source of these monsters. As for the health and wellness of the village, it is my duty as a shaman to guide them to wellbeing. However, if you have any ideas or suggestions, I insist that you share them. Do not be hesitant. _

_ Looking forward to your visit,_

_Renado_

_Village Representative_

.

At once, Zelda's mind summoned a multitude of solutions for Kakariko. She continued her thoughts as they rode to the village, weaving them like spider webs from one point to the other, all attached, all connected, all with a consequence that lead to another.

There was a Malo Mart there, which would provide sufficient job opportunities to residences and would attract many customers, thus generating profit and an attractive economy to any passerby searching for a home. However, such a mass produced store that offered many goods for an inexpensive price would put small business owners out of business. She did not know if it would be a great risk with little reward, and decided to write to Auru for help. With tasks in mind, she jotted down her ideas on a sheet of paper.

A knock at the door interrupted her rampant contemplation. Irritated, she set down her quill and sheets of paper, which were scattered all over the caravan from a bump she did not notice, and rubbed her temples to quell a forming headache.

"Come in," she commanded, attempting to cover her frustration. Another bump sent the papers into the sky, and her brain against her skull. She groaned in pain while the papers all around her floated through the air like feathers and snowflakes.

Link's head peaked through the door, idyllic scenery of red rock and blue skies behind him. "If you are busy, I will leave," he simply said.

He began to close the door, but before it fully shut, she said, "Stay, please."

Link cautiously entered, striding across the room. "We arrive at Kakariko soon. We passed the bridge," he replied, taking a seat beside her. His gaze wandered around in confusion, taking in the strewn paper and her black fingers. "Writing letters, I presume?" A hopeful gleam flashed across his eyes.

"Purely for business," she got up to gather the papers, "these endeavours are serious and require the utmost importance." Another bump startled her, and she gasped attempting to find her footing. "Why are these roads so uneven?" she demanded, flying to the curtains and furiously opening them. Bright sunshine burst forth, and specks of dust floated through the air like small fairies. The landscape had green rolling hills, gradually transforming into a landscape of red rock.

"These roads have had served many carts and carriages, but no one has cared for them." Link went to her and stared out the window, shielding his eyes away from the near-noon sun. "If you want people to come to Kakariko Village, you should build up these roads for easier access."

They fled across a bridge. Curious, she gazed down upon the gap they leapt over and widened her eyes in awe, clutching on the few papers in her hands as she leaned over to gain a better view. The rock walls flowed down straight into darkness, a black pit of nothingness at the very bottom.

"Is that where evil breeds?" she wondered aloud, leaning further. "

Before she could see discover, Link's hand gently pulled at her elbow and brought her back to reality. "That is the Kakariko Gorge," he said, sitting back down on the sofa.

Zelda joined him tentatively, withdrawing a map that lied at her feet. She unfurled it, the old parchment stubbornly fighting against her. When Link helped her pin it down with his own hands, the map's artistic design of curled trees and elegant scripture shone in the light, the black ink now brown and the dye's greens, reds, and blues a faded colour.

"We are indeed almost there," she responded quietly, and then pointed to the area they were in. "This here is open land which leads directly to Kakariko Village. It looks as if this region is unpopulated. This is why no one would want to live in Kakariko. An unfriendly atmosphere that discourages welcoming. What do you say?" she turned to him, a smile tugging on her lips and his as well. "Shall we extend the borders of Kakariko Village for greener soils? Transform this area into farm lands? I heard the villagers complain of food prices, for there are no foods that grow in the mountains and rocks, only… well, rocks."

"That does not seem to be a trouble for Gorons," Link grinned playfully.

She giggled at that and rolled up the map, tucking it safely in a nearby drawer. "The Gorons have food aplenty in the mountains. It is the humans below that I am concerned about."

"There is no need to worry for the Gorons. They secluded and defended themselves well against the Twilight Invasion, and it was I who helped them. All monsters, slain by me. The corrupt Gorons manipulated by twilight, freed by me. Yes, it is true that there are small monsters roaming about, but I am certain the Gorons can squash any pesky little bug. They are strong and powerful, but most of all they care about kinship. That is what matters most."

She could tell his mind wandered to Rusl, Uli, Colin and Elina, that his mind briefly accessed his worn heart for the parents who abandoned him, because his eyes sagged along with his shoulders, and a melancholy smile graced his lips as his fingertips brushed against each other. The feeling was momentary, and his eyes glanced at her with his small, sad smile, the happiness covering the depression that lingered in the depths of his soul. He murmured a word, but she could not hear it because the inner conflict he tried to keep in distracted her, and she could feel it in the air as it exuded from him, transforming the cold air into an even colder temperature, and somehow making the walls around them closer.

Weak as she was, she looked away, and everything returned to normal. The air grew warm; the walls withdrew. She breathed, realizing her breath hitched and choked when she knew she should have spoken small words of comfort. His sadness overwhelmed her, and she did not know what to say or what to do. This thought sent her into a panic of despair.

"Leave, Link," she stammered, not wanting him to see her in a fragile state. "I need to attend to my letters." She gathered her quill, ink, and paper.

Confusion wrinkled his brow, but he did not protest and nodded instead. "Very well," he said, and left out the door.

With paper in lap and quill in hand, she gazed out the window, frowning.

.

The entrance to Kakariko Village had a pool fed by mountain waters. An oddly shaped cavern yawned, its large mouth streaming a wall of water. Rocks with faded swirls and patterns surrounded its premises, and she knew this was the place of sacredness and piousness. This was the home of Eldin.

Her caravan halted to a stop. Ulfur opened the door for her, announcing her title and other royal proclamations. He then nudged Link to her side, who stood awkwardly by and waved timidly to the villagers. She stepped down and could not help herself but gawk in awe for the first few seconds in Kakariko Village.

It was a shantytown. Rickety buildings of crude pieces of brick barely stood on its own. Sagging roofs of crooked, metal shingles bared its fangs to the skies. Some of the houses stood on another due to the limited amount of space the mountain walls offered. Dirt roads were few, vegetation was scarce, only a single, dead tree sat beside a ruined clay hut. With the entire place in dark, drab colours, the residents attempted to make it look nice with flags and banners of bright red, white, green, and yellow, although most of these were dirt-encrusted and tattered.

Her mouth clamped shut and she smiled a closed smile, greeting the Kakarikians with a small wave. They were few in number, three to be exact. A man with a beer belly, red hair, and glasses curiously glanced at her. Another man, tall and elegant, stood still with his hands clasped under his belly and wore traditional robes of cotton and leather with geometric designs. Dark, thick hair, tied loosely, flowed to his shoulders. Before him, a small girl gazed up at her, smiling kind eyes below her black bangs.

"Your Grace, Hero of Hyrule," the man with long, dark hair approached her. He had a smooth voice like velvet, calm like the skies overhead. He bowed down and she gestured him to rise. "I am Renado of Kakariko. Well met, Your Grace."

"Well met," said she.

"This is my daughter, Luda," he glanced at the small girl, and she came forward with a small smile and polite bow.

"Hello," Luda said. "Well met."

"Hey there, I'm Barnes," the redheaded man said from the back. He looked around cautiously, as if something were to attack him, and gave a shudder. "We really ought to go inside…"

Her men began unloading her caravan and leading the horses to the pool. The skies darkened and a fat rain droplet exploded on her cheek, its cold kiss sending shivers down her spine.

Renado gazed skywards and murmured about the bad weather. "Luda, show the kind men where to camp for their stay," he turned to her and Link, "Let us go to the inn. I will show you your rooms."

The only building that had two stories, it was the largest building of the village and the most impressive. Although it was oddly shaped and run down outside, the interior was decent but still needed major repairs. They entered the double doors, once a bright blue, to a wide, spacious lobby. The walls were thin, and it had missing flooring. The counter, near the top left corner, was old, worn down and abandoned. Another counter to her right was not in any better condition. Bottles lied unorganized on shelves and its tabletop, some leaked and oozed liquids, and others turned to glass shards. Wooden crates, containing spoiled food she assumed from the toxic smell emitting from them, sporadically strewn on the worn wooden floor. A lone table with no chairs sat right in the middle of the room.

It was practical, she thought, with less costs going for the decorations and more to the function of the inn. Plain pillars held up the second story and roof, the wooden planks creaking from age. The few decorations were elaborate sewn carpets that hung from the counters.

"Up these stairs," Renado said, not an embarrassed expression etched in his voice. A glare darted to Barnes, and the poor man jolted in fear. Renado directed his attention to Zelda, and continued, "Apologies for the mess, but a colleague of mine," another intimidating glare to Barnes, "did not finish his fair share of equal work."

"It is fine," she managed to say. The toxic fumes of rotting food made her want to gag and lie down in the clean, cold air outside, but she gulped and continued to walk deeper into the inn, despite her headache and nauseous stomach.

The stairs led to a large landing with a cabinet for clothes, towels, and other inn items.

"Apologies," Renado said, opening the door. "There is only one room with two functional beds." He gasped upon entering the room, and then frowned with narrowed eyes. "Horrible condition, indeed."

Zelda peered in and saw large, broken pillars and tattered curtains gathered at one end of the room. Two bare beds, dirty and broken, hid under them. The other two, laid neatly with warm blankets and pillows, sat at the other side of the room.

"If two people are willing to sleep together in the double bed, a third can sleep on the twin bed," Barnes said gleefully.

Link and Zelda glanced shortly at each other. She looked away, flushed at the thought.

"That will not be necessary," she abruptly said.

Some of her men entered carrying her gifts the Ordonians gave—ornate chests with clothes, jewelry, artifacts, souvenirs, travelling food. She commanded one of the men to bring the food to the kitchens for future travels.

"Shall we discuss your plans for Kakariko, any concerns mayhaps?"

Renado shook his head and pulled Barnes out the door. "You had a long journey. It is time for relaxation and recharge. Enjoy your stay."

When the doors shut, she could hear Renado lecturing Barnes about the mess he was supposed to clean. Their voices eventually vanished, and the click of the bottom double doors sounded through the air.

Zelda turned to Link, who had been quiet thus far. She hoped it would not be like Ordon all over again, where he would be heartbroken and confused in identity. Whatever fears she had of him, whatever uneasy feeling she had in the caravan, disappeared. To break the awkward tension, she asked, "Which bed would you prefer?"

"The twin bed," he sat on it, unpacking from a small bag. His Ordonian clothes and Hero's garb fell out. Other items he inspected quickly in his hand and put back in the bag while searching specifically for clothes.

"How can such a small bag hold such large items?" She did her own unpacking, putting her clothes in the armoire. When she opened its doors, the smell of mothballs and dust exploded. She coughed, waving away the clouds that had gathered.

"It is a bottomless bag from Malo Mart," he said, tucking his clothes under his bed. "Are you hungry?"

She frowned, pulling at the cobwebs in the corners. "Yes."

After they spent a few hours unpacking, the two journeyed downstairs to the kitchen. Barnes had successfully removed the crates and lit the lobby with scented candles, covering any odorous remains. They found him cleaning up the shards of bottles and throwing them in a bucket.

"Is there food?" Link asked him.

Barnes grinned widely at his voice, but then his gaze lingered on Zelda. Flabbergasted, he stammered and bowed suddenly to his knees. "Afternoon, Y-Your Grace."

She tilted her forehead downwards and said, "Although you revere me and fear me, there is no need for formalities and there is no need for fright. I will not punish you for any mistakes you have done or will do, and during my stay here, I wish for you to be yourself and carry on as you were. Such silliness of bowing down before me each time we are in each other's presence is time consuming, and time is of the essence. So, kind sir, rise up and meet me in the eye. I am here for business, and I do not want any formalities to hinder our time here. Do you understand?" She bit her inner cheek and thought her words true and harsh. He instantly jumped to his feet and stared at her, providing evidence for her fear.

"Yes, Your Grace!" he shouted, then promptly walked past her to the kitchen. "I will make stew, Your Grace!" he called back.

Link chuckled, patting her on the back mockingly. "He most certainly fears and reveres you more after that speech." He grabbed her by the shoulders and led her to the doors. "You cannot speak like the mundane. I quite like that little quirk of yours."

Zelda frowned slightly, listening to the roaring of the fire in the kitchen and the clanging of pots and pans.

"I have the thing to cheer you up," he murmured. "Promise me you will close your eyes?"

She nodded and grinned, allowing Link to guide her as they stepped out into the cold air. The rain had stopped, but she could feel the mud squish under her boots as she travelled into the unknown. With one hand over her eyes, and another on her waist, Link warmed her as they took one step at a time up a large hill.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked sweetly.

"A splendid place to relax during our stay here." They came to a halt. His breath—somehow cold and hot at once— brushed her ear as he whispered, "Ready?"

She nodded.

Darkness evaded as light granted her vision. It was a splendid place, indeed. Nature was in its simplest form of water, rock, and skies. Water flashed aquatic patterns against the two large rocks, who sat lazily like Gorons enjoying a bath. A curved wall reflected its smooth, dizzying motions, and offered privacy. In fact, since it was on such a high cliff, the very spot left a feeling of pleasant solitude in one's heart.

"So…?" Link opened his arms as if to give her a hug. "Is it not beautiful and relaxing?"

She gingerly unlaced her boots, her hair ribbons, and her dress, preparing for a refreshing soak. "The most unusual…" she murmured, attempting to ignore the gooseflesh and cold winds.

She tested the waters with a tentative toe, almost reeling back at how hot it was. Mustering courage, she placed both her feet in, the water like a hot, comfortable blanket, and began to wade waist length, not minding as her body conflicted itself in such polar temperatures. As each limb gradually grew warm, she found a seat and sat, the water splashing against her neck. She laughed in glee, in wonder, and at the strange sensations that wrapped around her like red velvet cloth. "Join me," she cried, waving frantically at him. "It is like swimming in hot pumpkin soup!"

Link had no choice but to oblige. He threw his over-shirt over his head and kicked his boots off, splashing in with high kicks. The water hit her hair, and she giggled.

"Oh, you naughty, _naughty _boy!" she teased, slapping the water. A small wave leapt from its surface and tagged Link on the shoulder.

A splash fight later, they sat calmly with wet locks and wide grins. Link tucked a loose strand behind her ear.

"Never in my life had I had such fun," she suddenly proclaimed. It was never a thought she had until now, and she blurted it. Embarrassed by such a sad fact, she hid it with a smile. That did not fool Link.

"I would imagine a princess's life as hard, unlike some other people. Especially as the only heir," he interjected.

She tried to look away at his broad shoulders and musclebound skin, but her eyes inevitably pulled her sights on him, and she would blush and gawk and stare, all the while wanting to be somewhere else. She shut her eyes tight, hoping for their autonomy to stop.

"It is true," she said. "Although it has its envious luxuries of rich foods, grand events, royal treasuries, and lavish clothes and rooms, there are many risks involved—such as assassination, rebellion, war. These outweigh the rewards. It is not a kind life to those who wish to live long, and it is not a life can be chosen or rejected. I was born in as an heir, as my foremothers before me, and I will live out my life as it was destined to be: a ruler. Since destiny is mendable by the tiniest detail, I can shape and mold what kind of ruler I will be. Benevolent, corrupt, vindictive, callous, just, loving—there are endless possibilities that _I _can choose. Do you see what I mean by this, Link?"

He nodded. "Destiny may choose our destination, but we are the ones who make detours and the paths we use to get there. What paths will you take?"

"I want to build this kingdom to greatness," she said within a second, and turned to him. "What is your destiny?" she asked timidly.

"I will let it set its course, and I will follow it to the ends of Hyrule, and it will bring me… somewhere." He shrugged his stiff shoulders and splashed his way to the shallow end. She noticed the way his fingers curled into fists as he tore through the water. "Enough talk," he called back to her, not bothering to turn around. The wind picked up the remains she was not supposed to hear.

_My fate is with you, but for how long? _

The sadness in her heart drained her veins of the warmth she so enjoyed, and turned her blood into cold, unending rivers.


	17. The Tragic Heroine

_Disclaimer - Any dialogue indicated with an asterisk (*) is written by _Aya Kyogoku, Mitsushiro Takano, Eiji Aonuma, _and_ Takayuki Ikkaku. _The _Legend of Zelda, _its_ _script, __and its characters are__ entirely owned by Nintendo._

_a/n - I don't know if it is entirely okay to use the dialogue directly from the game. If anyone knows the answer to this, please let me know. I'll try to change it, but it will still be entirely related to this story's context._

**warning: **Twilight Princess spoilers

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**~ 17 ~  
**

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**The Tragic Heroine**

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_I have failed them._

* * *

He wanted to stay by her side, even when their trip was over.

Conflicted, her heart thrummed against her chest violently. His affections warmed her. The way he looked at her with awe and admiration in subtle sideways glimpses, the way he smiled whenever she appeared before him, the way he always ran to her whenever he had doubts about himself – the telltale signs of limerence had planted themselves upon their first meeting, he as a wolf, she as a prisoner.

**~::-x-::~**

The twilight shrouded her kingdom in silence. The wind lost its voice, the people were quiet spirits, even birds' songs were absent – only the rumble of thunder and the soft drops of rain sounded. It was spring, but it felt like winter: cold, desolate, shadowed.

The chill of darkness swept in her simple room, and she had drawn on her mother's black cloak. Its warmth and memories did nothing against the sadness that lingered in her heart.

_I have failed them._

A low, growl rumbled from behind her, and a familiar, mischievous giggle echoed across the empty room.

Startled at the noise, she turned, fearing for the worst. The sight shocked her. A wolf from legends – large and grey with intelligent blue eyes – quieted abruptly. Her stare lingered on him for a moment. His eyes – they were not a beast's eyes, but a man's.

Midna's red eyes rolled in indifference as he approached her, stunned into silence. Zelda focused on her, remembering their own initial meeting yesterday.

.

_Zant's servants flanked her side by side, twisted limbs dangling to the floor as they swayed forward, their malformed masks far too heavy for their deformed bodies. Although they were silent, their intentions were clear. They smelled her fear, and if her eyes tilted to a window she could leap from, a cold hand gripped itself onto her wrist and pulled her viciously forward. _

_The steps reached its end to iron double doors. It was an abandoned tower that once served as a guest bedroom. Now it would be her who was the guest in this kingdom of twilight. She tried not to laugh, especially when those cold, dark hands opened the doors for her, and she entered._

_Once the doors shut, she surveyed her surroundings. It was a simple room. A bed. A fireplace. A desk. Two surfaces. A chair. A window. Few decorations._

_In her grief, she slumped down on the cold, hard floor, and cried endlessly, willing her tears to turn into light, to fight the darkness that encased her._

I have failed them.

_Again and again, she told herself it was folly to go at war against something far more powerful than Hyrule. Again and again, this reassurance faded._

_A giggle echoed throughout her room, abruptly ending the sobs. She took away her hands from her face, and squinted into darkness. _

_"I know how to bring the light back," a voice said in the shadows._

_"How? How...?" Zelda's own voice was desperate, shaken, and the tears slid freely down her cheeks._

_A red eye gleamed in the twilight. "With the Fused Shadow."_

_She widened her eyes. "Then you must be a... a..."_

_"Twili," she revealed herself in the pale light. Short body and limbs with a large, grotesque head. Her eyes were flaming red, redder than the fiery hair that sprouted from a broken piece of the Fused Shadow._

_"You are cursed," Zelda lamented. Sadness perpetuated itself inside her. _

_"It is a long story," the girl said, floating above. She placed her tiny hand on the gem of her crown and smirked. "So you are a princess too, huh?" Zelda nodded. "Great. I need all the help I can get."_

_Zelda stared at the creature before her. Through the magic lessons she had learned, a strong curse had wrapped its malice around her. Whoever it was must have been powerful. And the prisoner it held in its grasp must have been powerful, too..._

She must be a princess of the twilight, _Zelda thought quickly,_ for why else would a curse as strong as this befall a person? It is a dark magic; one made by a Twili...

_Zant._

_She bit back her rage – at herself for her helplessness, at herself for her failure, at Zant for this evil game he played._

_Zelda gazed at her with determination. She could trust this cursed princess of twilight; they were on the same side. She had nothing to fear._

_"I have heard legends," Zelda said, "of a hero reincarnated whenever Hyrule is in danger. Find him. In this veil of twilight, the spirit of the chosen one awakens and turns him into a blue-eyed beast."_

_"I will find him," she floated near the ornate, iron-wrought window. A flourish of twilight bubbled from her hands to the rest of her body, and she floated through the barrier with ease._

_"Wait – !" Zelda cried, running up to the window._

_The twilight princess turned around and smirked. "I have a quest to do, so whatever it is you want to say, make it quick!"_

_"I am Zelda," she said, bowing forward._

_A giggle erupted from her fanged mouth. "Manners in a time of crisis: yup! You are a princess, indeed!"_

_Zelda ignored her impish pester. "Your name, please," she replied, wanting to remember the person who granted her hope. _

_"Midna," she said, summoning a portal. She waved and giggled, the dark magic warping her out._

_The laughter remained in the air, echoing. _

_._

"...Midna?!"* Zelda cried out, surprised at her appearance with the hero beneath her. Their reunion was sooner than expected.

She giggled. "You remember my name! What an honour."*

The wolf glanced up at her, staring openly. Her heart faltered. It must have been terrifying and painful to shape-shift into a beast. She did not know who he was, but he must have felt the loneliness of the twilight's curse. It was only they two who were not oblivious from their world; they sensed the twilight, and with it, its monsters.

"So, this is the one for whom you were searching..."* she spoke softly, afraid the guards would hear her. Although they were on their breaks, she must remain cautious.

Midna flapped her hand in dismay. "He is not much, but I guess he will do..."*

The chain around his ankle caught Zelda's eye. Anger briefly flashed before her eyes – it must have been Zant's doing – but faded into sadness. How many more would suffer from her surrender?

_I have failed them._

"...You were imprisoned?"* Those eyes, unblinking, never left her once. "I am sorry."*

Sensing that she was about to burst into tears, Midna patted the wolf's side. "Poor thing, he has no idea where this is or what has happened..."* Her tone mocked them both. "So, do you not think you should explain to him what you have managed to do? You owe him that much..."* Her eyes narrowed and a resentful grin spread across her thin lips. "...Twilight Princess!"* Lightning flashed across the sky.

She lowered her gaze, the sadness pulling her down into the depths of her very own despair. She willed herself to remain strong in front of this wolf, this _man, _who held the spirit of the hero, but her eyes watered, and she squeezed them shut for a brief second. The stinging sensation went away.

_He needs to know._

She glanced up again, resolute. "Listen carefully,"* she paused, ensuring that he listened. He continued to stare at her, focusing intently. "This was once the land where the power of the gods was said to slumber. This was once the kingdom of Hyrule. But that blessed kingdom has been transformed by the king that rules the twilight,"* her voice wavered, but she continued on, "It has been turned into a world of shadows, ruled by creatures who shun the light."*

_._

_She awaited them._

_In front of her throne, under the protection of the three goddesses and the Triforce, she stood, gripping Hyrule's heirloom sword in her right hand. _

_She knew they had come. She felt as soon as the mirror awoken from its deep slumber._

_Men surrounded her—good men, honest men, men equipped with sword, shield, and mail against magic—men that would die for her. _

_She stood tall. They were all nervous, but her calm composure gave them hope._

_She knew it was hopeless. These invaders were strong; she had sensed their powerful magic. They would not win._

_But she had tried._

_Dark clouds billowed from the entrance's gaping mouth, shutting out daylight. Men startled, flinched, but those who were encased screamed, their echoes flying off the throne room's walls. . _

_Creatures loomed in the darkness. She squinted. They were large and quick, charging forward with scurrying limbs._

_Yet, the screams of the injured mingled with battle cries, a few men running forward with brave hearts, swords, and shields raised—_

_The first man charged with an arc. A creature dodged it and promptly countered with a strike of its large hand, advancing forward. Although he laid limp, another creature slammed onto his stomach. The soldier did not cry. _

_A crack in her mask. The sheer terror allowed her collectedness to dwindle by a thread. She stifled the fear in her throat, forced her gasp to remain silent, and felt the men who flanked her lose confidence._

_The creatures awaited their master, restraining their killing. And her men—those who were not dead were dying, or were simply in the creatures' grasps. _

_There were only three left._

_Ulfur, Wallis, and her._

_Their master arrived; an intimidating figure with foreign garb—a black and neon green robe, curved shoes, and a large helmet the shape of chameleon. Flanked by two more creatures, he walked with a man of triumphant. _

_He stopped at the bottom of the steps, not bothering to kneel before her. She clutched onto her sword. _

_"It is time for you to choose: surrender or die."*_

_Her grip tightened. The men around her struggled in the hands of monsters, moaned in pain or prayed for mercy; but the most jarring was the dead who littered the floor like autumn flies. Their eyes, lifeless and blank, told a story of excruciating pain. Blood soaked onto the pristine marble floor and the royal blue carpet, their wounds still fresh. _

_"Oh, yes,"* he continued, "a question for all the land and people of Hyrule..."*_

_She did not want her lands bathed in the blood of her people._

_"Life? Or death?!"*he nearly screamed, his tremulous voice booming across the grand throne room. _

_Ulfur and Wallis abruptly turned to her, gasping, afraid, wanting comfort from their princess._

_She was trembling in fear, frozen in realization, mournful in the only choice she could make._

_Three against an army of darkness. They had lost. _

_Her iron tight grip loosened, just like her desperate grasp on hope. _

_The heirloom of Hyrule dropped from her cold hands, and along it, Hyrule's freedom. Its clatters reverberated, announcing her choice, announcing her failure, announcing her surrender. _

I have failed them.

_There she stood, before her throne, beneath the Triforce, under the eyes of the goddesses who watched quietly, mourning. Unarmed, defeated, and with tears welling in her eyes, she awaited the terror that would besiege her kingdom._

_._

As she spoke her sad tale, the lights in his eyes glistened brighter, and the admiration for her bravery and determination swirled in his heart.

**~::-x-::~**

_He was mistaken. His reverence for me is merely one that is held for the queen, and somehow, along the way, it grew until its leaves of infatuation blocked out the sun's rays of reason. _

It was improper. If she were to succumb to her own affections, there would be severe consequences from her court, a severe scandal that would paint her in a negative light, an outcry from the populace.

What was she to do? Pain him with the truth of the situation? Anguish him with the inevitable separation? Reject his advances and tear away his heart? Avoid him altogether completely?

_He needs me._

She was a part of his life now. She was the only contact he had maintained after his adventure.

Mulling over the entire situation eventually led her to the moments they shared — however brief, they were close to her heart: his smiles made her smile, his laughter was contagious, his arms a comfort, his voice reassuring…

She smiled.

_I need him._

Finally getting out of the water, she tore off her wet underclothes and slipped on her dress. She was too impatient to lace up her long boots, so she picked them up and ran down the hill, not caring if the desert's dust clung to her wet feet. She ran through the rusty blue doors, through the abandoned lobby, up the rickety stairs, and burst through the bedroom doors, flushed, breathless, wet, and dirty.

Shocked to see her in such a state, Link's eyes widened and his mouth drooped open.

"Link," she cried, closing the distance between them.

"Wha—?"

She threw herself onto him with such force that she knocked him over, flat on his back.

"What is it?" The heat arose from him like the hot springs, yet he gently wrapped his arms around her.

A whisper, soft and sweet, blew into his ear like summer's wind.

"I need you."


	18. Winter's Wine

_a/n - I know it's a short chapter, but I wanted to put a huge focus on a very important pivotal point in our story. Also, this has got to be the shortest little thing I've ever written! What an accomplishment. :)_

* * *

**~ 18 ~**

* * *

**Winter's Wine**

* * *

_Whereas I sheathed my sword as a hero and shared my pain unto you, you have placed yourself in a tower for the longest time._

* * *

"I need you," she said these words repeatedly. She did not care if he saw her like this, vulnerable and heartbroken, wallowing in self-pity. "Link," she murmured, crying into his shirt. "We are friends, and I have been lying to you this whole time. F-Forgive me." Her voice trembled.

Link held her tightly, brushing his fingers against her hair. This lasted for minutes, and when her tears ceased at last, only then did he speak.

"I know," he said. "You have provided me with a pillar of strength. You may think you have deceived me into believing that this cruel world does not hurt you, but you have not. I know you are only a woman, just like how I am only a man. I saw the terror and sadness in your eyes when you were a princess, and I saw that hopeful gleam aflame in your heart as a heroine. Passion arrested you, controlled you, and you fought just and hard like me—but we got hurt from the Invasion, wounds on our bodies and in our hearts. Whereas I sheathed my sword as a hero and shared my pain unto you, you have placed yourself in a tower for the longest time, even around me, your friend.

"Do you remember what we vowed?" She sniffled and shook her head. "'Together, we can take off our masks as queen and hero and relax around one another,' that is what you told me. When you said that, I knew we would be great friends. But, Zelda…" He held her shoulders and looked into her eyes. His form rigid, his blue eyes wide in fear and anticipation, his heart fluttered quickly against hers. "I have realized that my feelings are far from friendly…" He gulped. "They are romantic."

Although she knew this already, to hear these words in reality made her gasp—in shock, in joy, in sorrow—she did not know. For once, she did not care about the future, about morals, about consequences—she wanted to be selfish, to live in the present, to be happy.

So she kissed him.

Passionately, fervently, eagerly—her tongue parted his lips. Tasting of wine and winter, she relished his rough lips against her own, enjoyed his gentle touch as his hands brushed her hair, the small of her back, and loved it when he fought back with his own rough mouth. When she gasped as he accidentally bit her lower lip, he immediately switched to a gentle embrace and a sweet, tender kiss. Another gasp followed as he gently settled her down on the bed, his body hovering over hers.

That was when she pulled away from him, realizing that she had gone too far.

"That is enough," she whispered. Her body ached for his touch again, but she knew if she did not stop it now, he would carry her away.

She got up and sat on the edge of the bed, patting down her soggy hair and lacing up her boots.

"Forgive me," he started, the sorrow flowing from his words. His voice was soft. "I should have never confessed my growing desire for you. It was irresistible, to hear the words of 'I need you' on your lips. It drugged me, and I fell under a spell, enchanted by your mutual affection, your adamant strength, your unfailing wisdom—"

She turned to him, smiling widely. "Link," she said. "I am infatuated by you. I will not hide myself from you. We are far from being friends," she paused for a moment, feeling as if she were in a dream, "we are lovers."


	19. Clandestine

_a/n - _Sorry for the long wait. Exams, you know? Plus, I wrote a love sonnet! Which was super hard because you gotta get the rhythms and the rhymes right. v.v

Anyways, enjoy! And please tell me what your thoughts are on the sonnet. I worked super hard on it. 10 hours! I want to see if it makes any sense. XD (there'll be an explanation next chapter)

* * *

**~ 19 ~**

* * *

**Clandestine**

* * *

_Passion, love, life, and zest filled my veins like wildfire, and like burning light, the darkness that shrouded me and kept me from the world burned away._

* * *

What was to follow was one of the most exciting, thrilling, and craziest thing she had ever done in her life.

Between Kakariko meetings, Link would discreetly sneak a kiss on her cheek whenever Renado examined a map or looked out the window.

At breakfast, when everyone would gather round the lobby and dine on crude ale and beef, Link would again give her small gifts of affection—a squeeze of the hand, a loving gaze, a quick kiss on the cheek.

When they were supposed to survey the lands and give ideas to Renado in what it could be used for, Link stole her away in a secret place—inside a cavern, behind a rock, between the trees—and kissed her so passionately that he did many strange things to her heart. It swayed with the rhythms of his sweet kisses, it danced at his tender touches, it melted as he held her in his arms.

The first time they entered such a secret, dark place, she was scared, frightened, of the eternal abyss before her. He wrapped and arm around her shoulder, offered her a sweet smile of reassurance, and they entered the mouth, disappearing from the world of light. He was excited in showing her a small treasure he found during his adventuring, thus he breathed flame into life, and the dancing shadows flickered onto the cave walls, emitting light to reveal beauty she could have never imagined, especially not in something so dark and eerie such as cave. She swallowed back her gasp, allowed her mouth to drop open for a second, as her gaze widened and drunk in the wild colours around her.

It was magical, almost too beautiful to be real. Each inch of the cave wall was painted in bright, vivid colours, like potions from a wizard's brew. Emerald green aligned the ceiling in a swirling ribbon, ruby red merged out of it into a deep, indigo. The flames from their fire lighted their hidden beauty, glowing the colours into something more surreal, something _magical, _like a wizard's strange concoctions, when in reality, she knew it was nature's own doing.

Water lapped behind her. She turned around and gaped again. The water was the bluest she had ever seen, even bluer than a clear sky's and the vast oceans. It was a deeper colour than sapphires themselves, and twinkled like the starlight of an evening's sky, although there was no sunlight to see.

"What is this?" In her shock, the words flew out in uncouthness.

Link leaned against the cavern wall, his eyes aglow from the swaying fire, the very irises a celestial blue. In the cave's own beauty, it was as if his allure emphasized against the wild backdrop. Even his hair seemed to be real gold, each hair on his head curling to perfection as they framed his handsome features. Zelda obeyed his eyes, which spoke of desire, and fell into his arms, kissing his neck.

"I have never seen something as wonderful as this," she whispered, and the cave walls around them hushed her breaths as her voice echoed quietly.

"Without courage, there is no beauty," he replied with a kiss to the top of her head. He drew away from her arms and pulled her to the fire, where they sat, the tips of their fingers touching. "You have faced your fears of darkness, due to your own self-will, and it is your strength and power that allowed you to see beauty that is hidden in darkness."

"You always have these rare insights, Link, a wisdom that is as old as time itself." She scooted closer to him and leaned a head on his shoulder, sighing. "I wish each of our moments will last forever."

Link tensed at her words, a sudden, painful jolt passing through him, which invaded her own body. They both knew what would happen in the future. Their secret love would never end, as it was a pure and strong bond—something so rare and so beautiful, a relation and feeling that would last forever—that even when they were old and grey, her heart would glide to his, and his heart would fly to hers. Never a thought, which passes through, would be without her, or her without him.

Their statuses would separate them physically. She, as a queen, would be required to marry another and carry on the royal line. He, as a hero, would champion the kingdom's future wars.

The very thought pained them both. They grew silent as they thought of the inevitable.

"Even if it will hurt me," he suddenly spoke up, "I will love you. Each second with you makes me feel alive, every part of my being is humming with this electrical energy whenever I am around you, and each time we touch, happiness consumes me into a blissful cloud. Whenever your gaze lingers on me, I cannot help but smile and gaze back lovingly at you. Sometimes I want you in my arms forever, I want to kiss you and have us alone in our own little world, but I know our responsibilities will drift us apart… but I still dream a day when it is just us two, forever."

"We are as one soul inhabiting two bodies," she murmured. A single tear escaped her eye, and a tender finger wiped it away from her cheek.

"Each tear your shed is like my own," he whispered, drawing her closer into his arms. She slumped against him, feeling the future's pain of separation, which burdened her heart with grief. "Do not be so frightened and sad, my love," he tucked a fallen strand behind her ear, "I am here with you, as always."

Resentment and bitterness filled her soul as she thought of the social norms that prevented their marriage, of society's values that inhibited their love and passion to bloom beautifully. Was she to be forever chained and shackled to her throne, denied happiness she could only gain from one man alone? It was unfair, unjust, _despiteful _and despicable to be ripped away from someone who kept her afloat when she felt like drowning, to be rejected of expressive love when she so desperately wanted to spread her joy and happiness he brought to her. It hurt her already to imagine a life without him—to even think of it, a part of her heart felt cut, bruised, and battered, as if some unknown force had stabbed it.

She deserved it. He deserved it. Love had found them, and she could not deny it any longer.

Desire had filled her then, and with a sudden push of her hand, his back hit the cave floor, and he cried out with a chuckle. "Whatever are you doing?" he asked, thinking her playful.

She hastily began to tear off her dress as each of her legs flanked his sides. He widened his eyes at sudden realization, sat right up, took her hands away from unlacing her bodice.

"I will not make love to you and ruin your reputation," he said firmly as she desperately fought against his grasp.

"We will never have a chance again—," she inhaled a sharp, quick gasp, her sobs suddenly apparent, "—and it is what I want. Do you not want to commemorate our love?" Another sob and her heart fell from her chest to the bottom of her feet, as she toppled onto him, defeated.

"I am an honourable man, Zelda, and you are a woman who deserves a husband that is of noble blood. What I am is just an orphan boy with no past and no future. Our relations here are fleeting, a pleasurable experience that will last forever in my heart," he told her, gently rubbing her back as she leaned her cheek against his chest, the tears cascading like waterfalls.

She grew silent, and they lied like that for a while, her body atop of his, as his gentle touches gradually calmed her, but not fully.

His words rung true and spoke of the inevitable, the very problem with their relationship, and it irked her to see this bump in the road. She wanted to slow down and stop, smooth it out, and continue forward in their journey. Yet, in her heart, she knew their destination would lead to crossroads. He would turn left, gone from her life forever, and she would turn right, leading the role she meant to play from the moment she inhaled her first breath.

On their second month at Kakariko, when early signs of spring drew near, she crawled in his bed, pressed her cheek against his chest—hearing his heartbeat sing, his gentle breaths rise and fall—and laid a tentative hand on his torso. They stood still for a moment, the tender, quiet atmosphere of lovers in a silent embrace lending another fond memory to store away in their hearts.

Then she said it: "I love you."

He tensed shortly after, inhaled a sharp, quick breath.

"It is not written in the stars for us to be," he replied.

"But do you love me?" came her response. She was on the verge of tears now, on the ledge between despair and hope.

He sighed. "Yes, I do love you. If it is not obvious now, then I fear for you as a ruler," he joked, kissing the top of her head.

"Then… love me," she whispered, turning around, lending a soft kiss on his lips. He returned it, his hands gently resting on her hips as she straddled him, her chest pressed against his. She breathed heavily, fearing his reaction, as she slipped her hand beneath his shirt, feeling the bumps of burns, the scars of old wounds.

He panicked then, pushed himself against the wall, blue eyes wide in the full moon. He cowered in the corner of the bed, as if she were some cruel being intent on bringing harm and pain to him, his body shaking as he drew his knees to his chest, his mouth gaped open.

"Never do that again," he whispered, and he still shook and shivered as he drew the blankets around him, settling back into bed.

"I…" she trailed off, hurt. Her lower lip quivered. "Only want to give you my love. Before this all ends." The tears streamed down her cheeks. She suppressed them down with a gulp.

He pulled her down to the bed, wrapping his arms around her, caressing her cheek, wiping away the tears with his thumb.

"I am selfish," he told her after a long, enduring pause. She had quieted her sobs then, her face refreshed and flushed from cleansing tears. "I do not want you to see…"—a dry gulp—"the evil in this world, the pain I have been inflicted with, the ugliness upon my twisted body. It is a coward's wish that I hope you will respect."

"I-I understand."

"I do not want to ruin you."

There, he had said it again, the words of honour and duty, and she had snapped at his selflessness, for she had surrenders hers a long time ago, just for him. A surge of empowerment filled her then, a sudden force that urged him to see her perspective.

"You will not ruin me, Link. Do you want me or not?"

"I do, but I am scared. For once in my life, I am a coward, a coward who is undeserving of your affections."

She sighed again. "Our love is selfish, but it has already planted itself and grown wildly. We must trim back its crawling limbs to prevent it from spilling our secrets. Yet, I want it to work, I want to reap its fruit and relish it before our responsibilities cut it away, and then there will only be a small, fragile seed that will linger in our hearts until the day we die. Let us enjoy ourselves and love freely. This is the most opportune time for love's growth."

It was ruthless of her to urge him on when he did not want her to see him bare, yet she had to say her side. What happened next was a simple agreement that fell from Link's lips, one that was defeated and ashamed from his own self-consciousness.

"What I will see beneath your clothes," she said softly, feeling disgusted by her brashness, "is a handsome man who I love in his purest form." She turned around and kissed his lips, her fingers trailing from his chest to his abdomen, but she dared not go any lower, respecting his boundaries.

He pulled away from her sweet kiss, his gaze averting her own.

"Give me some time," he murmured. "I do love you, and I cannot withhold my desire from you any longer, but beneath my armour of cloth lays a tale of bloodshed and misery which I want to protect you from."

"A tale of bloodshed we both endured." She kissed his cheek before turning around. "Good night, Link."

He wrapped his arms around her, and when she awoke in the morning, he still slept by her side.

* * *

Kakariko Village, in the two months that Zelda and Link were there, had become a hot spot for merchants raving about the springs' mysterious healing properties, of which they bottled up and carried to Castle Town. Their purchases earned Renado's small community plenty of rupees to repair old houses and build new sites.

A small band of builders from the castle's Builder's Guild arrived, camping near the dirt roads at nights and building blueprints by day. The hotel was the first to reach its full potential—the Guild expanded its single master suite larger, fitted it with respectable furniture, and added in more sleeping rooms. They fixed up the bar, the lobby, the kitchen. They threw away old furniture and replaced it with new shiny, handcrafted ones. The outside received a paint job, a new roof, and new windows and doors.

Sooner or later, the inn was ready, and tourists (mostly from Castle Town), settled in, planning to get away from the melting, stinky snow of Castle Town to spend their last few days of winter in the hot springs' serene beauty.

Zelda did not enjoy the attention she drew. Link hated their prying eyes more than ever and kept to himself, only speaking to them when spoken to. Their secret romance would be risky, and so the two lovers kept their distance, even if it was heart wrenching.

Link stole glances whenever he could, and when she did spy him gazing at her, he would instantly smile—a tiny blush hinting at the apples of his cheeks—as he lingered on her for a second, only to nonchalantly look away, as if he never looked to begin with. Zelda's reaction would always be smitten and fond, and his small act of deviance filled her with joy, that people were astonished to see the cool-headed queen smile widely and walk with a skip to her step.

She was too busy with helping Renado and his village, and he was too busy solving the monster problem Renado spoke of, so in the rare moments they were alone, they united with passion. Fevering kisses exploded between them, like fireworks in the summer, and eager hands captured every inch of each other's entwined bodies. Their bursts of energy felt as if it lasted forever, and when they stopped, they grinned sheepishly at each other, helped one another with their appearance—dishevelled hair and crumpled clothes—before wandering on outside and continuing their role as queen and hero.

Each day that passed did not threaten either of the two. In fact, their bonds strengthened against the inevitable as time itself felt eternal. A day passed, another was extended. Day by day, the two masqueraded a formal, professional relationship, but at night, when nothing could see but the stars and the half-sleeping moon, they kissed and embraced, they spoke of their pasts—never quite focusing on the future, of which their hearts dread.

He spoke of his boyhood in the small, sleeping village of Ordon, where nature was as one with the people. They respected the forests and the streams and ensured their small settlement would do no harm to the land which sustained them.

Link grew in the household of Rusl and Uli, who treated him as their own son and taught him all that they knew: swordsmanship, archery and the ways of the kingdom from Rusl, poetry and literature and music from Uli. He got his first horse, Epona, when he was ten, and used it for the good of the village—even then, he was selfless and humble, doing the right thing to benefit all. His job was to round up the goats at the end of the day, when twilight's splendor rained down upon in orange light against the green lands—a time of which he would ride the winds and appreciate life, where his thoughts lingered on philosophy. Thus his easy, lazy job of goat herder was one that he had enjoyed the most.

The only child near his age was Ilia—most of the other children, who had come to look up to Ilia and Link as older siblings, were only infants then. So, the only relation and contact he had with another his age was her, Ilia, who would, he said with a small, wistful smile, always drag him out to play… and sometimes she would contradict herself and force him to go to his job (which he was always late for).

When he was not studying—he was a good student as he was naturally intellectual—he swam in the cool waters, played in the grass and forests, and, even at a young age, performed a hero to Ilia's princess in the children's game of 'make-believe.'

Link's eyes swam with guilt as he said her name. He had abandoned her in her worst state. In retrospect, he had a crush on her once, before adventure transformed him into something bigger than just an orphan boy from Ordon Village. Back then, their relationship was everything. He drew up furtive poetry to admire her beauty, he ensured Epona's safety to make her happy, he did whatever he could to gain a smile.

Whatever bond they had was certainly not as strong as the bond between Zelda and him, a love that had struck him so hard, he was absolutely sure he would go insane if he could never have her in his arms.

This he told matter-of-factly, a deadly seriousness in his voice, a darker tone between his words, as he added, "It was an obsession… a dark, lingering thought that was always on my mind. I dug it deeper, intending to bury a grave for it, but it would always rise from the dead, haunting me. I knew it was wrong to love you, I knew it was deadly and sinful, but I did so anyways, a secretive admiration I had from afar. I knew I could never have you, yet… here we are now."

"What would happen if I… never loved you back?" she asked cautiously.

He turned to her, the pain in his eyes as the thought crossed his mind. "Why, I fear I would go insane, dive into a deep, dark depression, which would pull me down to the Zora's Rivers depths below."

A silence followed.

"Have I drawn you out from darkness?" she said at last.

He coiled his strong arms around her, his hands linking behind the small of her back, as she sat on his lap, gazing down at him from her elevated position.

His eyes shone bright in eternal gratitude.

"If perfection of a human could be in one form, it would be you, the light which snuffs out the smothering darkness."

* * *

In their last week of Kakariko Village, everything Zelda had planned was moving along well: buildings were being constructed, businesses were built, the springs attracted a permanent population from Castle Town, and farmers inspected and settled the fertile fields beyond. What she did not plan, however, was to feel a stronger bond between Link and her. If two were already in love, how could one possibly fall farther, deeper, into the rivers of love, right down to the waterfall's mists?

That was what she felt—a sudden soar from her heart, as if it were flying forever, as she watched him from afar, a genuine grin on his lips, as he spoke to the new village residents, who were surprised and honoured to see the Hero of Twilight speak to them excitedly of Kakariko's great potential. She heard what he said to them, words of comfort and poise and power, words of which rivalled a king's.

She heard it again when he spoke to the builders of a problem he saw, which he requested to be attended to as soon as possible, speaking of potential dangers that would arise if left unfixed.

She heard it again whenever he was around her, specifically when the words flowed from his lips endlessly into an enchanting tale. He spoke of the first time he saw her, when he was a wolf, and how something so small could turn into something so large.

"It was a confusing time for me—I was a wolf, walking on four legs quite clumsily, with a strange, demanding being on my back. The senses of smell overpowered me then, dizzying me, but I had continued onwards, slaying strange, Twili creatures of dark possession, just to see if you were safe. Even if I had never met you before, the thought of harm befalling the princess of our lands sent me into a frenzy, a sort of anxiousness that would not cease until I saw you safe and sound." He twirled a piece of her hair mindlessly as he thought of what to say next.

"A dark robed figure stood near the window. I growled, anger filling me, as I jumped to the conclusion that this mysterious person had killed the princess. I was ready to pounce immediately, but you had started at the noise, turned around, your soft lips parting. I ceased my snarling, sensing that you were only a prisoner… a noble, perhaps. It surprised me when you unveiled yourself after the tale of Hyrule's fall. The sorrow and the suffering in your voice should have hinted that you were Hyrule's princess, but I was so emerged in your tale of woe, I could not think for myself.

"Thus, it was here that it started, when my infatuation for you began. It was nothing but that—respect and honour for the brave heroine and princess of Hyrule. Yet your riveting kindness, selflessness, and wisdom drew me in repeatedly, and my thoughts would turn to you sometimes, thinking of a beautiful, kind-hearted and loving queen on the throne instead of a usurper, as I travelled and fought and bled and burned and killed and maimed. How ironic that something as righteous as the princess was on my mind as I did such horrendous things.

"At the end, when my heart had fallen at Midna's departure, you rose like a phoenix to catch it, to set the black coal aflame once more. Passion, love, life, and zest filled my veins like wildfire, and like burning light, the darkness that shrouded me and kept me from the world burned away. Perhaps it was gratitude, or perhaps it was your unfailing affection and determined valour to be close to someone as broken as me, that lent me jubilation to love and live again. And it was you that my heart had set its endearment on." Link caressed her cheeks, which were soaked with tears of happiness. She hid her face at the nook of his neck, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, as he held her close.

"I love everything about you," he murmured, "and I want to share everything about me, give you everything that I have, even if it is nothing compared to your castle and your riches. It is what I have to offer—my entire being, from me to you." He gazed into her eyes, which shined so brightly and so hopefully, as the two lied down on the silken sheets of the inn's new bed, the moonlight, with the incoming spring's breeze, pooling through the window, gently brushing against their hairs on their heads.

He sat up and set his fingers at the bottom of his shirt, pulling it up, the soft sounds of cloth against skin emitting into the still night as he drew it over his head, revealing what he wanted to hide from her.

She did not gasp. She did not widen her eyes. She only stared, said nothing, made no reaction.

Against the canvas of his skin, large strokes shone in the faint light—deep, long, short, jagged, smooth. There were plenty, all of varying colours. Some had healed, leaving behind a silvery, white line. Others were more recent, purple and pink with rougher edges.

Link took her hand in his and placed it on a blow from a sword, letting her know it was okay to touch. Cautiously, she did, gently her fingers explored, afraid that the scars that lived still hurt. A red gash pooled near his shoulder, the angry red lines rough against the touch.

"An arrow wound from some meddlesome bulblin," he answered her inquiring eyes.

Her hands drifted downwards, to the middle of chest, where his heart beat strongly against her fingertips. The skin was pinker here, raised a little, in the shape of some morbid flower that bloomed from his heart.

"From Fyrus, a dungeon boss," he replied, his voice stiff. "He was a Goron named Darbus, mutated by the Fused Shadow, a monster covered in flames, at least fifteen feet tall, and strong… _too _strong."

Zelda erased the image that conjured in her mind. He was so brave to fight against such gruesome creatures, and to see the battle wounds as a result, to imagine the freshly inflicted, throbbing, bleeding pain—she inhaled a sharp gasp, a sudden despair and terror for the man she loved who had went through so much to save Hyrule.

Link noticed her concern, gently placed his hand against her cheek and rubbed her chin with a tender thumb. "It is over now," he whispered, gazed into her worried eyes, and quelled her fear with a kiss.

They pulled away, a light hand on her shoulder. She had never noticed it then, but a thin, white line split vertically across his eye, hitting only the cheekbone and brow bone.

"Ganondorf," he muttered, and a flashback of their battle reminded her of the sudden, bloody, shocking strike Ganondorf had managed to inflict upon Link, right onto his face. She had cried out then, on the horse, but stifled her anguished sob of terror, reminding herself that she must not, under any circumstances, distract Link. Yet, she could not help but let out a tiny wail of anxiety as Link drew away, wiped the blood that had trailed down his face, and grimace, his eyes spiteful, his teeth gritted, as he glared at Ganondorf, ready to strike.

She ripped away from her memory, focusing on the present, trailing her hands further down Link's sides, feeling the bumps, the rough areas of his skin, until she reached his belt, which she unhooked and put aside to gain a closer look to yet another gruesome-looking scar.

It was faded, paler than his skin, and near his hipbone, disappearing beneath his trousers. Her fingers rubbed against it, rough to the touch, and trailed the jagged lines, which formed a pattern that resembled coral. She unbuttoned his trousers, slipped them loose, leaving behind only the white cloth of his braies. The coral pattern gripped around his left leg, all the way to the ankle—she could not bear it. The pain of such a large injury… she bit back her spite to the monsters who did this to him.

"Acid," Link grimaced, "from multiple boss fights."

She nodded, not saying a word, knowing that Link wanted her to see, but he did not want to tell her the stories behind each scar. That was for another time, another day, when the scar in his heart would fade.

She would help ease his pain, her own heart promised.

From his shoulder to his bicep, an orange-pink tree budded downwards, like seaweed in the deep sea, its leaves waving, as if eternally in motion. It was smooth skin, as if there was never any scar there at all, but the blooming leaves told otherwise.

"…and this?" she mumbled, wondering if it were some strange tattoo.

Link grew silent, his expression hard and pained.

"From you," he said abruptly, and she had drawn her hands away, flinched at his words.

"I… did this?" she asked, shocked, disgusted, hurt.

"Ganondorf's puppet," he whispered. "It was not you at all, but him."

"In a way, it was still me," she responded, resentment in her voice. "He used my magic for harm, he used me to maim you—and I was too weak to fight back."

"You were with Midna, were you not?"

"A part of my soul was still in my body. I offered her the Triforce of Wisdom, the part of my being that was the most essential, while the rest I remained in slumber." She embraced him, dug her face into his warm chest, squeezed him tight, as she gasped and sobbed. "I never wanted to hurt you. It was still me, my magic, my eyes that hunted you down, and I was weak. I could have pulled away, but I remained motionless, stunned into terror… and the memory of such an incidence was swallowed back to the ends of my minds. Only now it has resurfaced, and now I know why I had denied its access to my consciousness. Oh, Link," she moaned, "I am a horrible person for hurting you. Forgive me, forgive me," she pleaded.

He gathered her in his arms, bundled her up with strong kisses and soft hands and caresses, as he laid her down onto the mattress, hovering over her, smiling now that her panic and self-spite were vanquished.

"It is the past," he said to her, gazing down at her sorrowful face.

"But it still happened—," she protested.

"And I still love you," he replied firmly. "You were weakened by giving away your powers to Midna, your strength sapped out of you. You could not have defended yourself against Ganondorf's attacks. I should mention now that you most likely have a battle scar as well against your fight with me," he said sadly, guilt in his eyes. "It was a difficult fight—the most terrifying and horrible battle I have ever faced. I feared I would kill you, that I would injure you—yet, I had no choice to attack, to draw out the demon inside of you. Each slash I took was like a stab in the heart. To save you, I had to hurt you."

As he spoke his gentle, pained murmurs, his deft fingers had unlaced her bodice, leaving behind only her nightdress, which he helped pull over her head. The evening breeze swept in and brushed against her bare skin, and she felt suddenly self-conscious as she sat before him, naked in the moonlight. His fingers trailed down to the small of her back, urging her to lie on her belly. She did as he said, turning over, her long hair slipping against her unclothed body, which he brushed away.

"Look here," he said behind her, his hand on her lower back.

She strained her neck and saw a scar with a snowflake-like pattern, its pink and orange, intricate and jagged lines exploding along her hips and her coccyx region. She bit back a gasp. She never noticed it before because she always had someone to lace up her dress, a servant that would never dare point out such an odd mark to her, and when she wore clothes, she always covered it up so no one ever mentioned nor saw it.

"Oh…" she could only say that, for she was speechless. A tiny giggle suddenly parted from her lips. "I never noticed it, Link, and no one ever did too, besides the people who help me change and bathe. It is quite pretty, I suppose, but its origins are horrifying. Yet… heroic." She turned around, lent a gentle kiss on his neck, pulled him down on top of her, their bare chests touching. She could tell he was saddened by his acts of violence, maybe even angry at himself, but she wanted to let him know she was fine from it, not at all angry or bitter to see a scar on her skin.

"I love you," she breathed as their lips parted, her arms still linked together at the back of his neck. "And as you said, 'it is the past.' We will never forget it, but we will move on."

He nodded, his eyes looking downwards, the tips of his long, dark eyelashes brushing against his high cheekbones. Suddenly, his gaze flickered upwards, the light blues of his eyes ethereal in the moonlight as he gazed at her.

"I love you with all my heart, and I will never stop loving you. My love for you will continue to fight when all is lost. Do you not feel the same way as me?"

Zelda knew in her heart what she wanted, and what she desired—even if it was frowned upon, it was what she dreamed of, what she wished for every day. She wanted their moments to last forever, from one day to the next, for all their days in their lives. So, she pulled him down again, hugged him close, and placed her lips near his ear, whispering these very words that would change their fates forever: "I do, my love, my hero, my king… my everything."

* * *

Time had passed during their stay at Kakariko. The winter snow melted at last, the cold winds turned warm, even the sun burst through the cloudy, cool days. Like spring, the sleeping village of Kakariko burst to life, filled with new faces, new families, and new businesses and buildings. Outside the stony walls of Kakariko, the farmers watched their crops sprout their first, green leaves, and the grass revived itself from golden dust to shining emerald, the skies above a brilliant sapphire.

She knew it was time to leave soon. All that they had done was accomplished, a great success. Link found the bulbin lair within a cave's face, exterminated them like the vermin they were, and freed the villagers from fear. He did this without a word, and it was not until she noticed a wound on his bicep that she heard of his great feat of defeating at least five hundred bulbins within a day.

She took him to the spring's healing waters, soothed his wound with a gentle touch and stitched him up.

"How is it that a queen knows how to heal?"

Zelda smirked at that. "A queen knows many great things, some of which that are random, others of which that are useless."

He laid a rough hand against her rosy cheeks, the calluses brushing against smooth skin. Zelda's face turned redder at his touch, and she bit her lip to keep herself from smiling, yet something like radiance and joy beamed from within, and she grinned, her lips parting to reveal a toothy smile. Link returned her happiness with his own, capturing her in his arms. She was about to protest that his stitches would break, but he ceased her words with a long, sweet, tender kiss.

"You are like a blooming rose in spring, with the sunshine in your hair and in your skin and in your eyes. In fact, you are spring itself, spreading love and joy everywhere after a brutal winter," he teased her, pecking her at the tip of her nose.

She giggled. "All right, my gallant hero. Enough sweet talk… especially in public," she said.

Something like seriousness clouded his eyes as he gazed at her, his smile faltering, his lips pursed in thought.

Zelda knew what was on his mind: The inevitable doom that would befall both of them. Little did he know that Zelda had a plan to make their happiness last, one that would require patience for it to flourish. Although she had not attended to her ultimate goal yet, it sat at the back of her mind each day. She would get to it, she would explain it to him, and then she would hope that, in such an honourable man, he would agree to it.

"I assure you," she kissed him on the head as she stood up, the water sloshing her ankles, "this will last forever."

* * *

Later on that night, when the starry heavens gazed down upon him, Zelda furrowed her brow in sorrow. Link's words echoed in her mind: _It is not written in the stars for us to be._

Fate was mysterious—cruel, even—but she knew fate favoured their love, for they had not yet been caught yet, nor had they fallen out of love. And, if history ever taught her anything, there had been plenty of Hyrule's princesses and queens who had some sort of romance with a hero, some with happy endings, others without.

She prayed to the goddesses hers would have a happily ever after.

With a sigh and a huff at an exhausting day, she settled at her favoured reading spot, a comfortable armchair near the window. She reached over to a nightstand, grabbed her favourite leather bound book of fairy tales and legends, and flipped to her current page. Something slipped and fell onto her lap.

It was a paper—one that was worn and crumpled, but folded neatly in two. Curious, she opened it and read its contents, Link's unmistakable hand apparent in black ink.

* * *

_Eternal love ascends thee to a queen_

_of mine own heart and heaven's lasting skies._

_And our pervading passion will be seen_

_throughout the kingdom and its prying eyes._

_Thy beauty rivals spring's unending love._

_Within outliving flowers, wisdom blooms._

_Which ceaseless kindness spring has smiled above,_

_for I alone whereat be weeping doom?_

_Thou heart and mine unite for always: love_

_enduring, spirits soaring, hearts alight._

_To gaze to sapphire eyes, to feel thou dove_

_lips whisper, wrenches into ill delight._

_For in my dreams and heart, thy love for me_

_within desires of: will thou marry me?_


	20. A Question and an Answer

_a/n - _Quick update! Yay. Now, I'd like to mention that next chapter, which is half-way to completion, will be updated shortly after this one. All because I read what I've written so far and decided that this particular section was a little off to the whole of next chapter. So, in itself, it is a little chapter which speaks of love, joy and passion and fear for the future. I hope you enjoy. :) Tell me your thoughts as well. I've never made such a romantic scene. I'd like to hear your reactions. Is it messy and cliche or creative and poetic? x)

I also realized that most readers aren't interested in reading about the aftermath in side characters and regions, so you'll notice that there is less emphasis on this part now. The writing is more focused on Zelda and Link's relationship. Okay, that's all I have to say about this chapter. Please review at the end! Thanks. :)

* * *

**~ 20 ~**

**A Question and an Answer**

* * *

_Let us last forever, in our heart, and be immortal as the winds, the waters, and the earth._

* * *

Her eyes scanned the text repeatedly until the black ink merged with the white parchment, which soon turned into a blur like furious winds during a storm. Her hands gripped onto the worn paper, her fingers digging into the troughs of the war-torn material, adding more stress to the already contemplated piece. Rough hands had already touched the poem, as if he took it out to read it over, to see if he could improve on his work… or perhaps he was scared to bring out in broad daylight, where all could see their deepest, darkest secret. The parchment was faded, the ink as well.

Thousands of questions flew to her mind. Why had he written this? When did he write it? Why had he delivered it in this peculiar way, in her childhood book of fairy tales? If she recalled correctly, she had never spoke of her fondness of old legends to him at all. Had he observed her, then? Made an assumption?

Her heart fluttered and swooned at the thought. How romantic of him to smuggle in something so dangerous and passionate between her most favoured possession in the world: an ordinary book.

Her widened eyes always gravitated towards the end. And her heart leapt when her eyes jumped to the bottom of the sonnet, where the couplet declaring his unresisting temptation enchanted him to ask her hand in marriage. The beginning spoke of eternal love that was too enticing to be ignored. They would never be happy together, he declared, if they were always apart. In fact, they would be happier if they were miserable together, suffering the backlash of their engagement. Their love would prevail. Their love would never perish.

How brave of him…

A knock on the door sent her already excited heart on the verge of apprehensiveness. Hastily, she tucked the note inside her purse.

"Come in."

Renado appeared, his inquisitive almond-shaped eyes gazing at her with a question. He strode in silently, stopped before her and bowed deeply.

"Your Grace," he spoke quietly, voice unwavering. "I wish to speak with you privately."

It was an odd request as they were the only two in the room. Nonetheless, she nodded her head.

"Forgive me for my impetuousness." Renado arose and looked out the window. Seeing nobody, he closed it and the evening draft was promptly cut off, leaving out the chilling night air. "I know it is not my place to speak, but it is urgent in my eyes. It is about the Hero and his fondness for you, Your Grace," he added, sitting down on a wooden chair, back impeccably straight with his hands on his lap. He gave her an even, cool gaze and his lips frowned slightly.

Zelda restrained the gasp which almost flew out of her mouth. She knew instantly what he implied. "With your penetrable eyes, I see now that Link and I have been quite… incautious."

"Not at all, Your Grace," he replied. "With your absences together, I only presumed that something far more friendly had begun between you. Eyes speak a thousand words, and the eyes he has for you are full of love and longing. As are yours." A calm smile lingered on his lips as he watched her. "It is not my place to give advice to the Queen of Hyrule, but hear me as your friend and companion who prays for Hyrule's prosperity."

"Continue," said she with a wave of her hand.

Renado cleared his throat, his sight wandering off into the distance as he contemplated on what to speak of. "He will make a great king," he told her, eyes snapping back onto her gaze. They were intense, she saw, and she felt uneasy at his cautiousness. "I have seen him when he was young, and even then he had the virtues of what makes a good man." He licked his lips nervously. To see him so anxious was odd to Zelda as she had always thought Renado a timid, calm man with a presence that rivalled ice in winter – still, silent, cool. However, the ice melted down into water, and his reaction was jittery like the ripples after a large splash in a pond.

Although his hands shook as he gripped onto his knees, he continued on with his thoughts. "What Hyrule needs is a man who is honourable to rule by our queen's side. A man who is forever loyal to the queen and Hyrule. What better man than Link, Your Grace? He has slayed many monsters and creatures, he has bled enough blood for all of Hyrule, he has saved Hyrule, its queen, and its citizens. And he did this all because he has, inside of him, the innate good. He is the epitome of heroism and altruism. A true, honest, hard-working, intelligent, loyal, determined, humble, scrupulous young man who is utterly, completely in love with you, and he is selfless enough to throw something so pure and beautiful away just for you, his own queen. If that is what you want, Your Grace."

Arterial throbs rammed against her skin as she listened to Renado's speech, yet she remained silent and stoic, listening intently. These words which he spoke of all she already knew deep down in the depths of her heart's drumming. At this very moment, her extremities grew cold in anticipation of seeing Link, smiling, laughing, of feeling his lips crushed against her own, bodies entwined.

"I…" Her lips parted as a weak syllable croaked out of her throat. She tried again. "I love him. Is my love so selfish that I wish for him to be mine alone for always?"

A sly smile winked on Renado's face as his kindly eyes crinkled in happiness. "My dear queen," he said, a tentative hand landing atop of her own. "It is what he desires... it is what Hyrule needs. With wisdom and courage on the throne, Hyrule will reach a new golden age. I know the people love Link as much as the monarch. There will not be an outcry if you marry; there will be a celebration that will last many months. However…" Renado's happiness withered as his eyes glazed over at a speculation.

"What is it?" she nearly cried, for his face darkened at the thought.

"The only obstacle that will be in your way are the nobility."

She bit her fist to suppress her anguish, the glove's cloth rough against her teeth. "It is always them," she mumbled.

"My dear queen…" Renado's voice floated to joy again. His eyes watered. "The monarch is absolute. Whatever she says holds the most power."

He shifted in his seat as Zelda mulled over his words, the chair squeaking as he stood up and bowed in gratitude. She barely heard the door click after him as she sat in her arm chair, the note tucked away inside her purse and the stars shining with all their might into the window, because all that came to mind was a definite, explicit, absolute _yes _to a rare, audacious, devoted question_._

* * *

Zelda found Link by the spring, the moonlight reflecting off its shimmering waters like silver. It gave him an ethereal glow. It turned his tanned skin to a pale colour, transformed his golden locks to platinum. His back was to her, his head bowed, a poet's shirt snugged tightly around him as he crossed his arms and leaned foreword.

"Link," she said quietly, fearing her voice would echo against the mountainous walls of Kakariko and awaken all. Her feet splashed into the water as she sat next to him on the rock, the lukewarm liquid surrounding her ankles.

Link said nothing. His gaze locked onto hers, sending a tidal wave of emotion emitting throughout every being of her body. She could not breathe for a while nor speak a single word; all she could do was stare at his sad, blue eyes – the defeat written permanently in them.

"You read it," he said it simply, the emotion a void in his voice.

Confusion settled around her like impermeable fog.

"I should have never tucked it away inside. I should have destroyed it, burned it, ripped it," he continued, the rage paramount in his hushed words as his hands thrashed around in his hair. He grew quiet then, hiding away his shame within the palms of his hands as he sighed a low, long sigh. As if the wind heard his call, it swept in slowly, blowing strands of hair onto his cheeks, which slipped and slid with raining tears of frustration.

"If you say no, I understand," he murmured. "What would a queen do with an orphan with no name and no future?" He withdrew his hands away from his face, but he still averted her gaze, only watching the rippling water beneath them. His hands and shoulders slumped, and she sat still and quiet, listening to his eulogy for amorists.

"I – " she began, a hand lying on his shoulder. Link leaned into her, wrapped his arms around her waist and propped his chin atop her head.

"How can a hero be so cowardly in the face of a woman?" he interrupted, the vibrations of his throat tickling against her.

"Love is irrational," she responded. Curiosity got the better of her as her hands snaked up his chest, the cloth beneath warm from the rising heat of his sun-kissed skin. Her hands remained near his collarbone, small and frail against his robust upper body. "Why do you regret sending me such a wonderful gift? Do you doubt my love?"

"I do not doubt your love for me. I doubt your love for the kingdom of Hyrule. I doubt myself as a worthy man of your affections. As a queen, would you rather not marry a rich prince who can easily grant you riches to fix the aftermath of the disastrous Twilight War? Or a neighbouring kingdom to expand Hyrule's lands and resources further? What can I possibly offer to you?"

A faint murmur arose from her lips and brushed against his shirt sleeve. "A great ruler."

Link was still for a moment and silent as well. "Do you mean…?"

"Yes."

Whatever uncertainty he had for himself dropped instantly; his eyes shone like the night's stars as he gazed upon her tranquil disposition. Beneath her tender fingers, his throat beat rapidly like a drum against sultry flesh.

"I… never knew you would say that word to my most sensitive feelings for you… all in that little sheet of paper," he said to her, captivated.

She reached up and kissed him on the tip of his nose. A small smile lasted on her lips as she drew away, rummaging through her little purse connected to her girdle. "I have it here with me," she mentioned, drawing it out. "Tell me now, why is it so worn?"

"Because I dwelled on dreams of delivering it to you," he said. "I wrote it a few weeks ago, and even then it looks like years. I would retrieve it from my pockets, read the lines over, and hesitate on enacting my one last brave decision. The coward I am, I did not give it to you from my hand to yours as I planned, accompanied with a grand speech and a romantic night. I snuck it within the pages of that old book you always read at night, when you are idle. It was the only way."

"I am forever grateful," she told him amidst the windswept ripples of water, below the black canvas of nightfall, beneath the sleeping sliver moon, "for your love to me that you would even sacrifice it in the hopes of making my role as queen facile. Yet, your unconditional love that you would so foolishly rip away from me would be my undoing as a being. Let us last forever, in our heart, and be immortal as the winds, the waters and the earth. Stay with me; marry me," she murmured between kisses, her fingers escaping beneath his shirt as her palms ran up and down his rough skin.

Her words breathed life into him, her gentle touch passion. He lifted her onto his lap and held her by the waist as his fingers explored the curve of her back, unlacing each of her dress's ribbons, unwrapping her as if she were a gift sent by the goddesses themselves.

She untied his shirt. Splaying the white cloth against his skin, she kissed each inch she uncovered, rapturing as her lips brushed against the contours of his chest.

"Link," she whispered, breaking away from a fervent kiss he had pulled her into. She leaned her forehead against his, gripped the back of his neck with one hand while the other leaned limply against his chest, her gaze lingering on the arrow wound he had shown her nights ago.

"What?" he responded back, equally quiet.

Silence followed until the thoughts leaked from her mind to her tongue and teeth. "Will we stay by each other sides until the very bitter end?"

Link bit her ear and she giggled. "Of course, but the real question is… how will the kingdom react to such a scandal?"

"Favourably," she responded, and what followed was in all seriousness. "Not the nobles."

"No," he said, disappointment suggestive in his voice. "Not the nobles."

"Have you ever encountered them before?" she asked, her hands returning to her sides. The very thought of future battles to come destroyed her passionate mood.

"Never," he muttered, tying up the shirt she had so ruthlessly destroyed. "Oh, you really had to tear off the strings this time?" he added playfully.

Zelda grinned at this and stuck out her tongue, then her mood switched back to the dark matter at hand. "Once we reach the castle, you will see how plotting they are," she said cheerlessly.

"Are all truly atrocious?"

"Some are good, I suppose… though I have never conversed with that sort."

"Then there may be hope-" His eyes widened as Zelda suddenly parted his lips with her tongue.

"As long as I am with you, _you _are my only hope."

"What if I am hopeless?" asked he with a grin.

Zelda bounded upon his lap and crossed her arms behind his neck, a sly smile splaying across her cheeks as her eyes twinkled at him. "Then I am hopeless as well."

Link tilted his head. "Very well. I suppose the kingdom of Hyrule will have fools for rulers."

"I believe that the kingdom will have only fools for rulers because these fools are fools _in love. _A very different type of folly." She nodded her head.

He caught a strand which fell from her elaborate bun, twirling around his index finger as he stared off into the distance, eyes full of wonderment. "If love is to make an erudite woman such as you so irrational, then what does it make me? A man who functions solely on his feelings which were always irrational to begin with."

"It would make you insane," she teased.

"If love is insanity, then I am a madman who is obsessed with you," he murmured. Without warning, his words rubbed against her throat, and soon enough, his mouth was on her bare skin; tongue, lips, and teeth skimmed the curve of her neck as hands swirled down along her back. She let out a gasp as a sudden wave of pleasure washed over her.

"Stop," she breathed frantically as his hands delved beneath her skirt. "Not out here, in public… at Eldin Spring," she moaned as her back arched and her body writhed.

Pulling away, his hands still ran up and down her soft curves, sending a fleeting sensation of shivers to run up and down her spine. "I am a single-minded man who desires to devour you bit by bit," he said, biting his teeth together, faking another dive to her throat.

"I think you are a jokester who requires a nice long nap," she chided, dodging.

"What I need is an antidote to the intoxication you give me each time we are together. Unfortunately, the antidote is nonexistent. So I must drink my addiction down every hour, every minute, every second of the day." He landed kisses to her throat again, lowering them gradually to her heaving chest. "Or I will rot away with madness at her withdrawal," he murmured, his hot breath caressing her delicate flesh.

"To bed with you," she whimpered, caving in to his irresistible temptations. Her body ached for his, both bare and searing, twisted between the bed sheets.

"If it is what my mistress yearns, then it is what I yearn as well."

Without another word, he lifted her gently off her feet, a pleasant cry of surprise emitting from her lips, and carried her trembling figure to the inn.


	21. A Goron Visitation

_a/n - _Sorry for the slow update. :c A dozen of reasons: surgery, a wedding, a couple of other fan stories, and my schoolwork. Let's not forget laziness, shall we? x) And holy guacamole – what in the world did I just do!? Longest chapter I've _ever _written! Ah! I am freaking out! o.o

An_ immense_ thanks to those who took the time to favourite, follow, and/or review. It means the world to me to see people actually reading my stuff, and I never would've thought that 50,000 different people clicked on my story to check it out or actually read it. That is a lot of people! It makes me dizzy. X-(

Anyhow, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I hope you give me more feedback! Also, if anyone knows the answer to this question, please tell me because I am so super confused: When listing multiple adjectives to a noun, do you include the commas? Ex: 'dazzling small sad smile' or 'dazzling, small, sad smile'?

~_ Chameleon Eyes_

side note: For those of you who are begging for some smut, I won't be writing it in _Absolute,_ but I will be writing some in _Legends for Zelda, _which is just another mushy Zelink story, haha. :)

* * *

**~ 21 ~**

**A Goron Visitation**

* * *

_No matter Link's enthusiasm, her dark clouds would not disappear and be transformed to his sunny skies._

* * *

She awoke as the yellow light of morning filtered through the window, basking the walls and floors and ceiling in warm overtones of lustrous canary, and she delighted as the slight breeze blew in and kissed the heat away from her body. Turning around, her gaze lingered on his sleeping form, his shoulders rising and falling from soft breaths, his skin glowing in the molted sun rays, his head of golden hair brightened by its shining effects, his back embedded with herculean muscles and faded scars. Consumed with hunger, she reached over, her hands seeking the roughness of his skin, her lips wanting his claiming her own.

He turned at her slight caress, which beckoned galvanizing euphoria, and completely stole her away in his strong arms. Vigorously, he kissed her lips, tongue stirring inside of her, as he transfixed at her gentle touch.

He pulled away, and her torment swelled with the tides of the moon.

"It is almost noon," he mumbled. "Today is the day we depart."

"I cannot bear us apart," she complained, inciting him with a playful tug. A groan befell his lips. "Can we not stay in bed for a little while longer? I want to. You want to."

"We must do as planned. I promised to visit the Gorons and say farewell to the citizens of Kakariko. You promised to open a grand ceremony and feast for the celebration of the newly established population of Kakariko."

"My attachment to you outgrows my devotion as queen." She laughed as well as he. "May I join you in meeting the Gorons? I have been so busy as of late that I never had the chance to meet them."

"I told them that you were occupied all this time. They understand. They are also excited in meeting you finally."

"Just exactly how large are they?"

"Their sizes vary," he told her, getting up from bed. He pulled on the clothes she had ripped off him the night before and ran his fingers through his flaxen hair. "I will await you downstairs and get you breakfast."

She nodded at his words. Before he left, she leapt from the bed and grabbed onto his arm. He whipped around with a grin, unsurprised by her frolicsome behaviour and expecting jest, only to have an ardent kiss crash onto his lips. Blue eyes widened as he watched her small frame melt against him. Soon, he clung to her limp form and continued the gentle kiss that escalated into ferociousness.

"Please stay!" she gasped, her cheek against his chest.

His hands travelled along her spine, feeling the curve of her back, and lingered on her hips. "I am not going off to a war," he said with a smile, tilting her chin up so he could gaze into her eyes.

The mere mention of a disaster sent her tumbling in despair. If war were to break out, Link, as king and hero, would be ripped away from her arms with a chance of his absence forever. "My heart goes to war when I am not in your arms," she responded sadly, holding him tighter as if the winds would steal him away. "Move along and leave me be with my aching, warring heart."

"I am dead inside without you, and I am revived when you return. What ridiculousness have we been inflicted, Zelda?"

"It is love's curse and love's blessing." She held him close, a cheek against his collarbone, her breasts pressed against his abdomen, her hands toying with his fingertips. A kiss landed on her head.

Intuition struck him. He knew what she worried over now that they were engaged. Departure at its cruelest form: a war-torn kingdom. So he murmured words of solace, his soft breaths breezing the hair on her head, as he held her close. "I will always be here with you. I will be here whenever you need me. I will be here at your summons. And in our absences, in present and future, our hearts beat together as one."

"I never want to separate… even if the world is against us." She laughed nervously, fingers tracing his collarbone. "Forgive me for my dramatics, but I always fret over the possibilities of misfortune."

"Focus on the present and enjoy life as it is," he said, his hands slipping away from her. "I will order you the grandest breakfast to start off yet another exhausting day. I have noticed that you always sit over there," he jutted out his jaw to an arm chair, "at the end of the day, slumping over a book."

"I should read you a legend someday," she said wistfully. "A true tragedy for a princess and her hero. I certainly hope ours will have a happy ending."

"That wish will be granted shortly."

Zelda pulled him into another embrace. A chuckle rumbled from his abdomen, tickling her bare skin, as she reached up for another kiss.

"Stop preventing me from leaving, my queen."

"As your queen, I order you to remain for five minutes."

"Oh, do we have a tyrant now? Am I to be your prisoner and slave for all eternity?"

"Maybe…" Her eyes shifted slyly, a small smile helplessly jumping on her lips. Then her gaze caught onto the clock in the corner. "It is nearly noon!" she gasped.

"That was what I have been trying to say," he said with a sigh.

"Leave! Before I get distracted again."

Link snuck in a kiss to her cheek before fleeing to the door which nearly slammed shut behind him. Zelda giggled at his silly antics, then felt naked without his arms surrounding her.

It also felt odd her to wear nothing without the promise of a bath, so she walked to the indoor bathroom the builders made and flicked on a switch that drew water from a well. The water trickled into the porcelain tub. An ingenious invention she wished to implement in Castle Town, she added that to her mental list of improvements.

Refreshed from her bath and dressed in a simple white wool dress with minimal accessories, she ventured out of the master suite and into the lobby below, where many residents and tourists sat and chattered in tables and booths. At once, they grew silent at her arrival and stood from their seats. Zelda smiled at them all and waved her hand down, motioning them to sit. They sat, watching her glide down the steps with silence. She wished they would resume talking so they would not hear the grumblings her stomach made.

Embarrassed at her complaining tummy, she swiftly ducked into cover in a remote booth.

"Breakfast cakes!" Link said suddenly, startling her. He pushed the plate to her with a sheepish grin as he slid into the seat across from her. "The line is haphazardly long. Everyone insisted that I order first, but then I insisted they ordered first since they were waiting before me. What followed was a polite argument on who would order first. In the end, they won. Unfortunately, in the time that we argued, everyone would have gotten their order."

Zelda chuckled. "Just accept their admiration. You will learn to sooner enough." Then, with a low voice like the sighs of ruffling leaves, she leaned forward and whispered, "After all, you are my chosen one."

"As are you," he said, and his hand reached for hers under the table. His thumb brushed against the palm of her hand, and shivers ran down her spine at his minimalistic touch. Passion filled her again, and she futilely pushed it down.

"Why must you agonize me with just one, little touch? Oh, Link," she moaned, "the love I have for you swells inside of me like restless dreams… only now my fantasy has become a reality which is far better than the world of daydreams… it is you who makes me feel alive and feel as if I am asleep, tucked away in the world of pleasant dreams." Her scrambled words writhed from her mouth in gentle whispers.

Link's eyes watched her, glowing bluer than a clear summer's sky, as desire washed over him. His lips parted. His voice lowered. "If I could have you right now, I would. Right on this very table."

Her eyes widened at his words. Flames licked from her very core and travelled up to her neck, to her ears, and to her cheeks, until it felt as if every fibre of her being combusted. Shyly, her sapphire gaze avoided his azure eyes, and she grabbed the breakfast cakes, drew it across the table and ate with speed.

"Your zest really makes a woman hungry," she mumbled as she chewed.

"And apparently makes even the queen forget her manners." He pushed a napkin to her, a smirk settling across his lips, as amusement glittered in his eyes.

"And the queen makes even the humblest of heroes arrogant," she replied.

"I believe love is what makes even me more confident," he said, nabbing a breakfast cake right under her nose. In his hand, he scrutinized it as if it were some poisonous mushroom, disgust apparent on his face as he sniffed it and licked it. "What in the world is this thing?"

"A breakfast cake, according to you."

"According to the chef."

In her rush to occupy herself from Link's eager advances, and as she was so focused on avoiding Link's tempting invitation, Zelda did not register the taste on her tongue as she bit into the breakfast cakes. Bitterness exploded in her mouth, and she nearly gagged the mushed up food out, but out of politeness to the chef, and even though said chef was hidden away in the kitchens, Zelda swallowed that last bite and pushed away the unfinished plate with vehemence.

"Thank you for a grand breakfast," she said, smiling with sarcasm.

Link laughed. "Your teeth are somehow black."

"It must be the food," she said, dissecting it. Black liquid oozed out of the little bell-shaped cakes and stunk up the booth they sat in.

"My appetite has vanished."

"So has mine."

"Well," Link took the plate from her and plugged his nose, "let us see the Gorons."

* * *

The trek upwards to the top of Death Mountain was a pleasant, idyllic stroll, for the builders had constructed a better pathway to the top, one that was easier to walk on.

As they begun, Link mentioned how much work was done on the mountain, and how surprised he was to see it a reality.

"When I came here last, I had to climb a cliff, stop the Gorons from rolling into me (with my sturdy iron boots), slay a couple of bulblins, dodge blasting air vents from the volcano beneath the earth, evade falling rocks (many of which were burning), scoot along the edges of cliffs, and sometimes the hot steam would blast all over me." A grand grin flashed across his face. "I am _very _happy they included stairs."

She laughed. "You should tell me more of your adventures."

His expression darkened; his form stiffened. It all disappeared when he smiled again and planted a kiss on her forehead. "Perhaps some other time."

She nodded, and they walked on in silence, following the curve of the reddish rock encased within the mountain's surface. For the most part, the pathway upwards was flanked by large rouge walls of crags, but, when they reached the area with iron steps carved on the side of the mountain, and as they walked up the metal steps which clanged hollowly against their feet, all of Hyrule could be seen, like a miniature, faraway kingdom that gravitated further with each step they took.

"It is beautiful…" was all Zelda said, the words escaping her lips like a whisper of a leaf slightly wavering in the gentle breeze.

"You see the beauty in everything," Link told her softly, smiling, a hand hovering near her waist. He pointed to the castle, its conical roofs as small as tiny branches on a tree. "There is your palace. It is so grand… but from here, it is like an anthill."

"And all the workers inside it must be ants, then," said she with a smile.

Link laughed. "Yet, their queen is away."

"With their future king, of course," she said with glee, and then she leaned in for a kiss on his cheek.

Link bent down and obliged, his cheeks plumper from grinning so wide. Her kiss, gentle as ever, were like flower petals against his skin, her fragrance intoxicating.

Zelda withdrew, adoration sparkling in her eyes, and brushed back a strand of hair behind his ear.

"The Goron tribe of Death Mountain are very… manly," he said, failing to come up with a better word as they continued upwards. "I do not know if you would like them. They can be brash at times."

"Are they your friends?" she asked.

"I hardly know them," came his gruff reply, "but they love me."

Zelda took his response cheerfully. "It is rather odd that a bunch of burly manly men are buddies with a man so sensitive, gentle, and caring as you. My gentle giant." She held his thick arm – bristled with hard muscle – between hers, tilting her head onto his bicep.

"They refer to me as kin… as their brother," he replied, glancing downwards, uncomfortable with the title of 'Brother' they had given him so freely.

As an orphan, Link felt secluded by family that even the mere mention of a kinship tie caused a great sense of distress. He felt undeserving of such affections. Empathy grew from within Zelda's heart; she knew true loneliness – no family members of hers were alive.

The name of Rusl was on the tip of her tongue, but she reminded herself that bad blood had spewed between a beautiful relationship of father and son, and she did not want to exacerbate the circumstances with her own views – an opinion that would most certainly pit her against Link.

She believed Rusl was a good man, and so she wanted Rusl and Link to reunite.

Yet, Link had a weakness. In the time she knew him, he always gravitated towards negativity, making him a bitter man from within, which caused him to hold onto grudges with vehemence. In her heart, she knew he was a cordial man; however, years of gruesome adventuring had taken a toll on his good nature, leaving nothing but an aggrieved shell of a man behind.

Thus, Zelda said nothing to Link's referral to an isolated life of no family. She bit back her tongue from saying anything with a small sad smile, and decided to change the topics from depressing to jubilant.

"It will be a grand marriage between you and I."

"I would prefer something small and private," Link said. "Between family and friends."

"I hardly have any friends – just Auru and Prince Ralis, really – and I do not have a family anymore. Do you?"

"No," Link said firmly.

"Then there are not enough witnesses!"

"Then we will elope."

"Eloping? That would be a scandal!"

Link stopped in his tracks, and Zelda bumped into him, her forehead grazing his shoulder. He was still for a second – the anger apparent in his stiff form – but he suddenly turned around and embraced her, his strong arms muffling her, her breath against his chest, his chin atop her head; Zelda left a gasp that was quickly suffocated within his shirt.

"I love you. Is that not enough?" he whispered, kissing her harshly. Zelda stilled, sensing his rage at unfairness. "Why must there be grand celebrations and appeasements to the nobles? Why can we not just love each other, say it, and marry at the minimum? Why must there be feasts and balls and dancing and performances – all wastes – for our union? Think about it, Zelda," he ruminated, pushing her away, looking deep into her eyes, searching within. "Our kingdom is in shambles if we replace the wealth from recuperations to celebrations."

Zelda sighed to his chest and glanced down, ashamed. She agreed with him completely; it was silly to adorn the castle and all the towns with luxury for a week when the entire kingdom needed repairs. "I do not like it either," she spoke sadly, "yet it is what the people expect from the royals. You must not forget that a union of love is an opportunity to be as ostentatious as possible – it reveals a kingdom's power, prestige, and wealth. It is important, moreover, to input pride into the people of Hyrule. We must not rob them of that."

"If I am to play a puppet to the nobles…" Link muttered beneath his breath. He finished off the sentence with an exasperated sigh through his nose, the cold, swift air blowing strands of hair from her head.

"Be yourself," she said, beginning to walk again. He followed shortly, a few steps behind, wanting to hide the obvious scowl of distaste from her.

"You say that now, but later you will hassle me to kiss up to them. I will be polite to them… but that does not mean I will like them."

"You lie very well," she commented, fixing her plain gold band on her forehead. "It will be a breeze to you, to play the public role of king and hero. Do not worry, Link. I do not like them either, and it is so hard to put up with them, but I manage. If I can do it, you can do it with ease." She smiled at him, glancing back.

He nodded glumly, her words of encouragement wiping away his sneer. He stepped up to her, offered her his arm. She looped her arm through his, gazed up at him with pure affection.

"Would you prefer to hold off our marriage until all of Hyrule is stabilized?"

"It is the reasonable thing to do," he agreed, his lips downturned, "but I prefer to marry you as soon as possible and have plenty of healthy children."

"Children? Now?" she asked, bewildered by his statement, voice undeniably sweet from the mention of future children. "In five years, of course. I still have much to do, Link!"

"I knew you would say that," he said gently, his thumb brushing her upper arm tenderly. "That is exactly why you do not have any signs of pregnancy… after all we have done," the last bit he said with naughtiness, his voice low and secretive as if the very winds would pick it up and spread their intimate doings to the entire world.

The heat ran up her veins towards her cheeks. She looked down at her feet, the hemline of her long skirt filthy, her shoes encrusted with dirt, and her eyes inevitably drifted to Link's large boots, the material snugged tightly around his lean legs, watching as his subtle movements, which boasted of athletic prowess, cut swiftly across the ground.

"Wh-What did you do?" she stammered. Even his presence still made her jittery and weak in the knees, turbulent and disorganized like a disoriented deer wandering around lost woods.

"I gave you some Monk's Pine in your foods the days after we made love."

"Monk's Pine?" she asked, the name somewhat familiar to her. A flash of insight ripped through her, and her eyes lighted in shock and delight. "If I recalled correctly, that prevents pregnancies, correct?"

"Affirmative."

"Oh! How careless I was," she sobbed. "If I were to have a child before marriage, disaster and uproar would strike the lands."

"I took matters into my own hands," Link said, complacent in his deed.

"I am glad of that, very," she replied, her hands reaching to cover her mouth which would not shut because she was so shocked by her recklessness. It was so out of character for her to ignore worry and concern. "You make me so dizzy, Link… it makes me inattentive and negligent. Oh, but you are so contradictory as well! You make me smarter, in a sense, because I am more alert and pick up tinier details. But to miss that…!"

"Do not stress. Relax," he said to her tenderly, caressing her hair. The sensation of his fingers brushing against her scalp clamed her instantly, and a placid smile crept on her lips as she gazed up at him, his eyes scanning the area ahead, alert for danger. "I have a large package of it from Renado. He told me the most peculiar speech last night – "

"As well as I," Zelda added joyfully.

"Did he mention my greatness?" he said with sarcasm.

Zelda did not think Link gave enough credit to himself. "Yes, he did. You are a very good man, which is the exact reason why I chose you to be my beloved."

"I am not all good…" he trailed off, abruptly cutting away from a rant. A grin tugged harshly on his cheeks, as if he had some bizarre joke he could only understand. The expression turned gentler as he gazed down upon Zelda, and she looked up into his eyes, an inevitable smile widening her lips. "But you make me better."

Her heart thrummed in her ears, and she looked down again, wanting to avoid the desire in his shining blue eyes, her lips still smiling. "There you go making me dizzy again," she muttered playfully.

"Should you ever faint, I am here to hold you and carry you."

She laughed. "That is unnecessary."

Link placed an arm in front of her, seriousness returning. Before them, a small, circular archway made of iron – now rusted – loomed, leading directly to a small tunnel, the walls the exact reddish rock of the mountainsides. The light hit just right to see the lights of flaming torches on the other end.

"We are here," he said. "They are _very _friendly people."

"Is it true that no steel can pierce them?"

"Yes."

"How tall are they?"

"The last time I met them, I only went up to their neck. I was shorter then…" He paused, thinking. "Apologies. I cannot recall correctly."

"Are they _truly _made of rock? My books always say that they are, and that they eat rock as well. Sounds cannibalistic to me."

Link chuckled. "You have an apt appetite for curiosity that rivals even the most erudite scholars. Perhaps asking them these questions would curb your craving for answers."

"They would think me bizarre! Or worst… _rude!"_

He sighed, albeit rather exaggeratedly. "Ask quickly, love, for they will wander outside soon – as they are ought to do – since they are expecting company, and we must not forget that they can be impatient."

"So are they made of rock…?" she reiterated.

"No, but as they age, hard rock forms on their backs. And yes," he added, interrupting her next question, "they do eat rocks – that is why rocks form on their backs, because they eat a lot of it – in fact, it is their only diet."

Zelda shook her head, clucking her tongue. "Reading my mind," she mumbled, and for some unknown reason, rather than being annoyed, she was happy that he could. It saved much hassle from repeating herself.

"Anything else?"

"No, I remember much from my lessons. They make bombs, metal, and they can easily shape and cut the earth to fit their needs." She tilted her head, contemplating. "Perhaps I could hire them for building projects."

Link's eyebrows shot up in worry. "Oh, no. That would be the most unwise!" he cried, grasping her shoulders. "The Gorons are indeed a friendly folk, but that is only when you get to know them. They are standoffish and distrusting. Paranoid is an excellent word to describe them."

"But why?" Her question came off as whiny and childish, so she recovered it by adding, "Hyruleans are all brethren, and we stand united."

He grimaced. "I am afraid they feel separated from Hyrule. In their eyes, they are Gorons first, Hyruleans second."

"Well, then," she said, reproached. "Perhaps I can charm them into an equilibrium."

"Since you are my friend," he replied, emphasizing the word 'friend' since their relationship was to be a secret, "I am happy to announce that they may already like you." He grinned.

She grinned back. "Perfect. Now, Link. I will put on a show for them with you as my leading man. Ready?"

"Ready when you are."

The two glimpsed at each other, nodded briskly in determination, and then walked straight ahead, entering the arched doorway that resembled the mountain's mouth, and into the flickering, echoing, cavernous walls of dancing flames and loud grunts.

Directly in the middle were two Gorons fighting. One was smaller, older, slimmer, but still stout with thin limbs which rippled lean muscle as he pushed against the other Goron, who had a large, burly shape, the torso far too muscular, which offered the comical appearance of very tiny legs. All around the ring were the other Gorons, all cheering words of encouragements and yelling the name of their champion, "Darbus!" or "Gor Coron!"

Smacks, dodges, grunts, shouts, the sounds of heavy feet being dragged on the floor – all centred and swirled around the cavern walls. The older one, despite his lack of size, was surprisingly holding up against the larger Goron. A slap to the chest distracted him, and the elderly Goron took the opportunity to finally shove him off the elevated platform.

Cries burst throughout, low, grumblings of applause like thunder emitted. It was so loud, Zelda thought the mountain would collapse.

"Gor Coron!" a group yelled, and their cheers were abruptly halted when they gathered together, speaking of business transactions. "Did you bet fifty?" they murmured.

Amongst the bustle of Gorons, not one noticed the two visitors standing awkwardly near the entrance.

"Follow me… they can get wrapped up too much in things," Link said, and Zelda swore she saw a small hint of a fondness as he smiled, which she in turn smiled to.

"Gor Coron," Link shouted above, hands cupped near his mouth, and all purple eyes snapped onto him.

Gor Coron's thin, wide lips curved upwards into a grin, his little teeth showing, as he stepped off the platform and walked eagerly to Link, his stride like a strut.

"Ah! Brother! I knew you would make it," he bellowed although he was near Link. Slapping him on the back and still grinning, he looked him up and down, shock in his eyes. "By the mountain! You have grown taller, even taller than me!"

"Not as tall as me," another Goron said, and Zelda felt the ground shook and rumble as he took steps closer to their small group. A shadow was cast over all of them. At her height, she could not see the Goron's face – not even Link and Gor Coron could see him without looking up – so all three smiling faces gazed upon a peculiar Goron who was gigantic in width and height, his eyes an aquamarine colour rather than the deep shade of purple the rest of the Gorons shared.

"Hello," Zelda said to him, and her voice was soon vanished with the uproar of betting from the other gathered groups of Gorons.

Somehow, he managed to hear her. "Greetings, humans. I am Dangoro." His own voice was low and deep – like a war horn call – and cut through all the noise and racket with ease.

Link paled and widened his eyes at the sight of the massive Goron, yet – forever the polite man – he still plastered on a smile.

"Dangoro," he greeted, nodding, licking his dry lips. "A pleasure to see you again."

Gor Coron, sensing Link's discomfort, waved Dangoro away. "Leave, Little Brother, and return to the mines. We have much to take from the mountain and give to the lands of Hyrule. The humans need us." Then, he turned to the queen. "Dangoro is our greatest miner."

"I can see why," she said, avoiding his obvious indifference for the humans, and she was not at all shaken by the absence of her title. They were a friendly folk, as Link had called them, and in being casual and informal, did not care about titles and positions.

"Darbus!" Gor Coron roared. He glanced at her. "Darbus is our leader. You should meet him."

"Of course," she said, wiping wrinkles from her skirt. Although she was nervous in gaining their approval, she was more afraid for Link than herself – she saw that he was shaken by Dangoro, the largest Goron. Would he be scared by other Gorons? He had hinted briefly that he fought them.

So, she turned to him, leaned in, motioned him forward with her fingers, and whispered into his ear, "Should you wish to leave, I am fine with it."

Link shook his head fiercely. "No! I am your-husband-to-be, and I want to stay by your side – no matter my own personal feelings on the matter."

Taken aback by his valiance and diligence, Zelda was speechless and only nodded. To him, she reasoned, this encounter was a test. A test of being a king, of diplomacy.

"Your friend here is a good sumo wrestler," Gor Coron said to her. "Assuming that he _is _your friend."

She instantly commented with a smile, "My best friend." Her gaze drifted from Gor Coron to Link. "Just how exactly good is he in sumo wrestling?" This fact piqued her interest; she had never known Link was a sumo wrestling champion.

"He beat me, and I am one of the best," Gor Coron said with pride.

Darbus, the same Goron Gor Coron fought against and won, arrived by their side. "_Was _the best."

"Oh! You wish to fight me, Brother? If you need a reminder, it was _I _who just won."

Darbus shook his head, fondness creeping into his eyes. "No. I am tired out and am leading more Gorons into the mines for more metals." He turned to Zelda. "How was the bridge at Ordon?"

"I saw the blueprint and a glimpse of it," said she, all pleasantries which ripped a polite distance between her and the rest. "Thank you for the resources and your hard work…"

Link stole her gaze, raised his eyebrows, drifted his sight onto Darbus, and nodded towards him. A subtle wave of his hand indicated that she had to be friendlier with the Gorons.

She cleared her throat. "I wish to see these mines, if that is fine with you. Also, I invite you to a feast at Kakariko Village, which begins soon. We leave today, after the feast, which is scheduled with luncheon." She smiled sweetly – a genuine curl of heart-shaped lips, the pink flesh parting to reveal a row of pearls beneath. "To celebrate the prosperity of Death Mountain and Kakariko Village, I want all of you and your brethren to be there, to break bread and toast unending drinks – "

"Will there be rocks?" Darbus interrupted.

"Of course, and mud pies. I heard that was a Goron's favourite desert," Zelda replied.

"Please come… Brothers," Link added quite awkwardly, the fond title unaccustomed to him.

"For you! Anything." Darbus grinned while Gor Coron nodded eagerly.

"He saved us and Death Mountain, you know?" Gor Coron said to Zelda, and she nodded in response. "We are forever in your debt, Brother!"

"Come, come." Darbus motioned with his hands eagerly, walking to an entrance to another tunnel. Two Gorons stood on guard, their arms crossed. "Through here are the mines. However, some rooms are off limits due to the events Link saved us from."

"What rooms can I see?" Zelda, no longer able to restrain her excitement, had a little hop to her step, and behind her, Link chuckled at her enthusiasm.

The Gorons took note of her happiness, smiling from her contagious zest. "A Queen who is interested in boring old mines? You chose yourself a very nice friend there, Brother," Gor Coron said to Link.

"Only one room you can see. The rest are too dangerous for a human," Darbus interjected.

"Is it the one we head to now?"

"Yes."

"What do you do in these mines?"

"We mine every kind of rock – from glamorous gemstones to hardy iron. We also farm bombflowers, which are harvested and saved later as normal bombs. We have a process to transform them so then they do not explode when you pluck them."

"Interesting," she said and then sighed. "If you could show me the procedures…"

"No, we must not be late for the feast," Link intervened, strictness in his tone of voice. "I know how much you love to question things, Zelda, so once you get going, there is no end," he joked.

The Gorons guffawed, and Zelda frowned slightly, taking his honesty to heart. "Very well. Show us the room, and then we will head down to Kakariko for food and drink and games."

The room was larger than the last and hotter too. By the entrance and along the walls, pipes swam along in straight lines – some disappearing through the walls and others delving deep into the lava like divers. Lava swam at the bottom as if it were a fiery lake, rocks floated in two forms: either they were short as mock islands or as large as miniature mountains. Carvings of magma wove its delicate weave upon the stone walls, breathing wildfire from within, and the lower ends had the air melting like a heatwave on pavement.

A column of lava shot up, and Zelda jumped back, feeling the heat's kiss near her skin, and it left a scorched sensation like a shadow, as if she had actually touched it but not quite.

"I can see why it is unsafe for humans," she said, and the intensity of heat made her roll up her long sleeves all the way up to her shoulders. A thin film of sweat on her upper lip settled in like a man's whiskers, and with the back of her hand, she promptly wiped it away. She gazed at Link, who remained calm and motionless, but something in his eyes spoke of a different emotion – like a storm raging from within – and the flash of fiery light emphasized it.

_He is at his breaking point, _she thought as she turned to the Gorons.

"All right, gentle-Gorons, I think I have had enough for today," she said decidedly. "You must have thick skins to endure such heat. I, on the other hand, am sweating buckets right now."

Darbus laughed. "Gorons do have thick skins, you know? So thick, it can even withstand magma, lava, fire, avalanches, swords, arrows…"

"Yes, yes. The list goes on," Gor Coron said, waving his hand with dismissal, and Darbus gave him an annoyed furrow of the brows, making his already prominent brow stand out like a cliff's ledge.

"Thank you for showing me," Zelda said stiffly, unsure of how to end the conversation and switch it back to the feast. The heat had made her dizzy, and already the irked poundings of a headache – like some angry relative knocking on her door – brought on the irritated pain.

Link sensed this at once. "Sorry, my Brothers, but the queen does not feel well in such heat. She would like to continue and see everything that is to see, but the temperature prevents her from doing so." To her, he gazed at, searching for an answer, and under the heat and his smoldering eyes like shining, blue coals, she felt fainter. "Are you well? Shall I carry you down the mountain?"

She burst out laughing – a laugh so hearty and joyful, the Gorons had no choice but to join in as well, although they did not get the joke shared only between Zelda and Link. However, they knew the two were jubilant and gleeful in this moment, so they dove in to share the happiness.

"I like this queen," Cor Goron declared. "Have you ever heard the Goron saying that 'a person whose laughter spreads joy is a person worth having for company'?"

Darbus added, "Of course not. Humans do not know Goron ways."

"Actually, yes, I have," Zelda said as they walked away from the heat and into the tunnel. Link had his hands on her, in case she would topple over her migraine. "I have read many books on you."

"Books about us?" Darbus questioned, the pride paramount in his tone.

"Yes. I know much about your culture. For example, sumo wrestling is an ancient art form and is being neglected by the youth nowadays. Such a shame. It really is an entertaining event to spectate," she said sadly. "Perhaps I shall make it Eldin Province's sport – an event that will gather more wealth and people into this impoverished area. The dry landscape is not so inviting to humans."

"The humans get to watch us fight?" Cor Goron grinned. "Ah, yes! A phenomenal solution to our problem. You see, the younger generation really likes you humans. If they see humans love our sumo, they are bound to imitate them and join in the fun. A smart lady you have here," he said to Link, nudging him in the stomach.

"Maybe you should marry her, eh?" Darbus added, slamming him on the back.

At the double blows, Link let out a tiny _oof, _and she giggled, surprised how cute a sound he could make, amazed that Link's face could turn a shade so red.

"_And _she is actually interacting with us! Do you know how many generations of monarchs avoided the Gorons?"

Zelda was saddened by his statement for it was true. It had been five generations since the Gorons were consulted or even spoken to about the affairs of Hyrule – she did not know whether it was because the kings and queens of Hyrule were intimidated by such invincible creatures or the fact that the Gorons relied on one another and were solely independent, but she did realize that there were massive cultural differences between the two groups, and she hoped to intermingle them.

"That is precisely why I am on this trip – to get to know my kingdom better. It is a great educational tool to get one's hands dirty."

"That is a queen a Goron likes." Gor Coron nodded approvingly. He looked at Link, who was still bright red as a tomato. "And we would like a king like him."

The two young lovers beamed at Gor Coron's comment for he was a very old and wise Goron, one who had life experiences and many years to offer advice to youth. To hear those very words of acceptance from someone with a strict, inflexible, traditional background were music to their ears, and the thoughts of agreement from the nobles between a commoner and a royal's union echoed like a harmony beneath the melody.

"To the feast we will go," she sang, still smiling from Gor Coron. All four trailed out the tunnel. Zelda then stood on the platform at the centre of the room, and the noise level still swarmed around like angry bees.

"Gorons!" she screamed at a decibel so loud, even Dangoro was impressed.

Instantly, everyone stopped what they were doing and snapped their eyes on her.

"In case you do not know me, I am Queen Zelda," she said, bowing to them. When she looked up again, everyone in the room was bowing as well, their heads cowed low. Soon, their gazes were on her again, their inquisitive purple eyes staring blankly at her, wondering what she wanted.

She smiled warmly, a lively flush on her cheeks from the heat. "I invite you all to a feast at Kakariko. It begins as soon as we arrive at the bottom of the mountain. What do you say? Does good food, drink, music, dance, and games sound inviting?"

The crowd cheered and surged out with a lengthy "Yes!"

"Let us begin!" Zelda said, hopping off the platform and into Link's arms.

"The Gorons really like you," he mumbled in her ear, pleased. "I really like you," he added as an afterthought. "Albeit, _too _much."

She could sense his desire for a kiss again, so she squeezed his hand with affection, with gratitude. "I do not think I would have done well without you by my side. I would be a nervous wreck in front of the Gorons! They are intimidating, their size! Yet, they are gentle creatures, peaceful. I wish for all the best to their clan."

"They live longer than us and have seen many wars and battles," Link explained to her as they walked out the mountain's mouth. Before them, a long line of tumbling Gorons rolled down the pathway in a position like a defensive armadillo, leaving Zelda and Link alone in the dust clouds they kicked up, which swirled around them like a desert's sandstorm. "They shrink away from violence and are the true gentle giants. Not I, as you have called me before."

"But you are so gentle to me!" she argued. Staring straight ahead, she said, "I remember you said that you fear physical others because you underestimate your own strength."

The hollow clanks of metal getting pounded by footsteps echoed. Link responded, "I do, but, after being in physical contact with you, I think I have learned the difference between pressures."

"You are a fast learner," she declared.

"But that is because I have a good teacher."

She burned bright red like fire and giggled nervously.

"Sometimes you are a demon instead of a sage," she said to him coyly.

"Well, well, well," he replied, a sly smirk on his lips, "look who calls the kettle black."

"Whatever do you mean by that?" she asked innocently.

"What I am saying is…" He stopped a moment, noticing her mock glare, and sighed with friskiness, his shoulders dramatically sagging as he rolled his eyes. "I never thought you would be such a flirt and a tease." He had her in his arms again in a quick embrace.

"Neither did I," she said to him, flicking out her tongue. _"Mister Serious."_

"You are rather serious yourself." They drew apart, his hand trailing down her arm to connect and interlock with her fingers.

"I prefer to think of myself as solemn," she said haughtily.

"Casualness never suited you so well," he replied, swinging their joined hands back and forth.

"I only let you see me like this," she mumbled. "If people were to see their queen joking and flirting and bouncing around with energy rather than sitting back, observing, listening, directing, commanding like a desired monarch… well, they would think me crazy!" She turned to him, smiling. "That is why I have _you _as my vessel of craziness."

Link frowned. "These qualities that you list are not so crazy; they are normalcy in the everyday lives of humans," he said sadly. "I can imagine the upbringing you had – all work and no games."

"I had loving parents to soak my memories in nostalgia," she replied simply, desperately attempting to keep her voice low and steady so he would not hear the tiny hint of tragedy between her words. She did not bother to elaborate more for his comment was right, and to hear it from Link – who knew what a happy childhood was since he flourished in one – made her feel remorse and self-pity, which she shoved down firmly back into its abandoned grave in the corner of her heart.

He realized her sadness, and it ached his heart to see the light in her eyes dim down, the sapphire blue – which was normally shining bright – looked dead, defeated, and despondent. "The Postman, on the other hand, _is _crazy," he added, switching the topic to a livelier tone.

Her lips quivered into a little smile. "I see him sometimes in Castle Town from the windows," she said. "He sticks out like a sore thumb due to his dress and his behaviour."

"Yes, he is rather silly looking." Link chuckled.

"One must not judge another without stepping in their shoes," she declared.

"I see him as a workaholic with enough energy to make an entire army run a lap around Hyrule in a matter of seconds."

"Hyrule needs workers like him," Zelda said absently.

They ceased speaking, silence floating between them, the only noise surrounding them and echoing along the empty walls were the soft footfalls on hard rock, a faint panting of hot winds, and the occasional cry of a hawk from above.

"I – " they both said at once.

Link motioned her to continue.

"I never really talked about my childhood with you…" she started, her eyes hurting, indicating that if she did, she would to cry. And she hated crying, _despised_ it, thinking that it was a useless emotion to reveal to others, to give an opportunity of weakness to enemies so that they could strike –

"You have seen me shed tears." Link broke her away from her daze, and she flinched as his thumb brushed softly against a cheek, wiping away a cold tear. "I notice that you only cry tears of happiness, or whenever I speak of sad tales to you, but you hardly ever cry for yourself in my presence. You do not have to answer me, but… why is this?"

"To maintain an appearance of strength," she said, restraining further tear drops.

He nodded, wrapping his arms around her, kissing her gently on the tip of her nose. "You are beautiful when you are sad," he said, drawing away. "But, you are even more beautiful when you are jovial, which must be shown to everyone at the feast."

"You make me happy. Goal accomplished," she curtly said to him, tapping on his forearm, wanting to end the topic. "Do you enjoy dancing?" she added later, pushing back misery in her mind, the desire to pour out all her feelings, fears and moments of unhappiness to him who could deflect it and change it to something resourceful. That would have to wait another day, when the public did not need them as the role of queen and hero; nothing more, nothing less.

"Swordplay and dancing are very similar, so yes," Link said decidedly after a brief moment of hesitation. Later, he included, "The difference? One does not require a sword."

"What dances do you know?" she asked, trying to distract her mind from everything that was sad. He reminded her of a gloomy, lonely childhood that was not at all childlike at all, but already full of adult and queenly responsibilities. The picture of her parents kept entering her mind, transforming her normally lulling and solemn voice to quiet, tiny, and empty.

"Nothing fancy, if that is what you are trying to dig up from under me," said he with a playful tone, wiping away an eyelash that fell onto her cheekbone, and her lips automatically curled into a smile at his contact. "Peasant stuff."

"I only know the formal side of dancing, like waltzes. I suppose at the feast there will be impromptu dancing," Zelda said as they neared the base of the mountain. Music floated in the sky and a crowd surrounded a large tent in the centre of the road – carriages, horses and caravans, few and far between, laid nestled in a shady corner, a few stable boys tending them.

"Most certainly. Only nobles know the complicated constructed, structured dances. At these events, you can wave your arms and hop your feet and no one will judge you. It is all in the name of good fun!" Link exclaimed.

She hummed the lively tune emitting from the tent, thinking that its happiness would spread and replace the miserable memories from her head. "Surely you must have a _few _structured dances for an audience." Her comment bounced with disdain, sounding akin to a snooty noble lady's snide remark.

"Yes, but it is not so elegant and smooth as a waltz." Link did not respond with rebuttal, although she deserved it. He sensed she was in a foul mood, and he sought to make her happy again.

"Will you teach me?" she asked, and this time it was softer, full of admiration, a bit of guilt between the words.

"It is easy and quick to learn. You will get it in no time. I think I shall push you onto the dance floor and flood the learning onto you," he said playfully.

No matter Link's enthusiasm, her dark clouds would not disappear and be transformed to his sunny skies. "How fun," she said dully when it was supposed to be full of life and liveliness. "Waltzing is boring… unless you have someone handsome in your hands," she added, staring at Link openly. Something about his determined, feral, wild eyes made her swoon, the very blues like the colour of the skies, the emotion filled with a pureness of good intent and will.

"Teach me when we return to the castle," he reluctantly suggested as they took their last step off the mountain's pathway.

This was the exact sentence to drag away the tragedy from her heart as a flash of hope filled her. "For sure!" she said with love, resisting the urge to have another kiss in front of an audience. Despite her wisdom in years, Zelda still had the young heart of a woman, as such, she fantasized a waltz between Link and her, dancing in the glow of the dazzling ballroom lights, his suit making him all the more handsome, causing her heart beat to drop and pick up speed like lightning.

"Here we are," Link said, bursting her dreamy reverie like a bubble.

A faint blush appeared on her cheeks. "Oh," she murmured, shocked to be brought back to reality and a little bit annoyed as well.

"Are you well now?" Link asked her, murmuring the words into her ear. His hot, moist breath caused a tickling sensation on her exposed skin and sent her internal shivering right below the surface, similar to the gentle ripples of water.

"Yes," she said to him, softly, kindly, affectionately. "Because of you, I feel much better."

And, in the eyes of the waiting audience, she kissed him on the cheek.


	22. Rumours

a/n: Doing exams and stuff right now... and this year, I'm aiming for a 4.0 GPA, so I'm not going to write as much...

Expect updates to be slow. _Verrrry_ slow.

* * *

**~ 22 ~**

** Rumours**

* * *

_He held her tighter, and she clung to him as if he were the only fire and light in a sea of cold darkness._

* * *

What followed next was chaos. The onlookers, although only a few attempted to restrain their emotions and feelings to the kiss shared between the queen and the hero, had burst into mumblings, which, at first, was low and quiet so as to not look too obvious that they spoke of the recent kiss, but then later turned loud like a surging wave of water, the sound akin to the buzzing noises of cicadas.

"You always complain about public affections," Link said lowly to her as they cut their way to the little stage Renado had set up.

A look of mysteriousness became her. "Yes, but I did not think anyone would have seen that small kiss," she replied, eyes averting his. It was a lie. She knew full well that all eyes had been on them, and so she took an opportunity.

"But it was so obvious everyone was watching…!" Link cried as he followed her up the stairs. _"Oh…" _He stopped in his tracks, bewildered. "You knew."

"I just wanted to see what our people would say to a possible romantic relation between their beloved sovereign and their cherished hero. It was just a kiss… not a loud proclamation of our engagement," Zelda explained, her voice only heard by Link as the crowd was still too busy discussing the kiss.

Link chuckled. "Clever," he murmured in her ear, and then turned to face the crowd. "Everyone!" his voice boomed loudly, and he waited for quite a while as the noise volume died down. "A speech from the Queen of Hyrule and the Hero of Hyrule," he started, then turned around to motion to Zelda.

She stepped up to the centre of the stage, and everyone bowed down to her. "Citizens of Kakariko," she began. "It is of great honour for you to be here today on this beautiful and glorious celebration of new beginnings, for you, for friends and family, for Kakariko Village… and for Hyrule herself!"

"We wish you all the best in your new future here, so we have created a feast and activities to commemorate this joyous day," Link added, smiling widely, and Zelda felt a tinge of heat touch her cheeks as she watched his eyes sparkle with genuine love for the people.

Someone placed a flute of champagne in both their hands, and Zelda's hand automatically hovered in the air, way above her head, and her voice echoed Link's: "To Hyrule!"

"To Hyrule!" the crowd soon rumbled, and all around, various glasses, tankards, and cups floated above their heads. Everyone drank to Hyrule, poured another glass, and shouted: "To the queen! May the Goddesses and Spirits watch over her!"

Amidst the large sea of people drinking, shouting, and laughing, a crowd which soon easily dispersed to settle down at the various stands and tents advertising foods, dance and games for all, Zelda and Link walked towards the largest tent assembled for the important figures of Hyrule and Kakariko Village. The orange and white striped cloth fluttered gently in the breeze as they entered, already Renado was seated at the empty throne's left side. Zelda took her place in the tall, wooden throne, and Link seated himself beside her, to the right, and eyed the filled plates of pork, beef, chicken and fish. The smells of heavenly sauces wafted in the air as servers finished setting the table, placing even more appetizers, of which contained potatoes soaked in gravy, crickets sautéed in chocolate, and honey rolls immersed in butter, on the smooth, crimson, glistening surface.

"Kakariko has been saved," Renado said at once to Zelda, "not only by a hero but by the monarch as well."

"We are in eternal gratitude," Luda said, looking quite pretty in her cotton dress and hair adorned in mountain flowers.

Renado and Luda tilted their heads in a semi-bow of respect to Zelda.

Zelda offered a small smile. "Kakariko Village is the backbone of Hyrule; without Kakariko Village, Hyrule is nothing. Thus, I accept your thanks, but you must revel in Kakariko's importance and not be so humble as to think that all this," she waved with an elegant hand, "is undeserving of Hyrule's gratitude to Kakariko. Now, let us eat!"

The small band near the back of the tent began to play a merry tune as they feasted. Among the long table were the Gorons, who were the loudest and rowdiest of the bunch. They jested with clamorous slaps to their rock-hard backs or knees.

As the sun began to set, the festivities continued onwards. Servants lighted the towns in fire – floating lanterns soared in the skies like nocturnal birds, candlelight flickered on the streets in slim candelabras, and a small gazebo vined with magical firestones glistened in the shimmering waters of moonlight. It was a romantic location, accentuated by the lovely string quartet playing the most melodious serenade in the background.

Link leaned over the railing and gazed into the waters, and Zelda watched him from the corner of her eye. He looked like a man content with himself, a man who was fully accomplished and self-achieved, someone who was proud of who he was and had no regrets. She quite enjoyed the smug smile which curled on his lips. And as he turned to exchange a few words with her, she found her eyes were autonomous, darting away and evading his sky blue gaze, looking directly down to her hands; her teeth found themselves biting her lower lip nervously, her cheeks betrayed her by flushing a bright red, her fingers curled against each other like a vile snake nest.

Link gently unfurled them, taking her delicate extremities into his own, bringing her wrist towards his soft mouth, the lips like a whisper – a vow – against her bare skin as he kissed her.

She looked into his eyes with fear.

His strength gave her reassurance.

She allowed herself to be slowly embraced by him. His chin rested softly atop her head, his low murmur tickling her hairs as he spoke.

"A dance for the queen?" he asked her.

She could only nod; she found she had lost her voice.

Like a doll, he positioned her arms and hands: one draped around his shoulders like a lazy lioness, one clutched fastidiously yet firmly between his strong fingers.

He drew her close. A hair's breadth separated their noses. She could smell his scent; a pleasing mixture of pine and clean soap. She could see his beautiful eyes so clearly; the irises' patterns like a blue, blooming, geometrical flower of strange triangles surrounding the pupil. Her eyes trailed down, examining his petite, straight nose, the small, coarse, blond hairs growing above his upper lip, which was so tender and pink, she felt as if she were in a trance looking at the soft flesh. The blood soared through her veins hotly, and an immediate desire to close the distance between them, to crush her lips against his, filled her.

She pulled away, diverting her attention to her surroundings.

Everywhere, people observed their slow dance silently – whether it be shock, awe, disgust, their faces were undiscernible. She could not calculate how much time had passed, but the blue of twilight in the skies had turned into eternal shadows.

"People of Hyrule," she began, her voice regained, strong, authoritative and booming. "The hero and I have overstayed our intended visit; we will travel at night to make up lost time. We hope you have enjoyed the festivities; there will be another tomorrow. Good night!" she ended awkwardly, unaware of how to leave with a proper farewell in such a disruption in one of the most intimate moments she ever had.

Abruptly, she ran down the gazebo steps in a burst of speed and to the carriages near the entrance of Kakariko Village, Link close on her heels.

"Zelda!" he said to her quietly, voice full of concern.

Her knees were as shaky as her breath and her heart; the night air seemed to cling heavily against her, compressing her lungs and her pulse, causing both to accelerate into insanity. She sat aswoon on the lip of a carriage, panting.

"I need, above all else, approval from my people."

"Yes, I understand that."

"There will be rumours…"

"Which are, without a doubt, true."

"…if there is backlash, it will be like a wound to my heart."

"And I will be there for you," he said eagerly to her, crouching beside her, caressing her hair with affection. The gesture soothed her, and she leaned into him, her head tilted against his throat. He kissed her softly on the top of her head and looked at the stars with her.

"I do not know if my actions were foolish or were brave," she said after a moment of silence. She glanced at him, hoping for approval.

He smiled at her, his very eyes like the stars themselves as they shown their light down upon her, casting her hope.

"They were brave."

He held her tighter, and she clung to him as if he were the only fire and light in a sea of cold darkness.


End file.
